Scent of a Man
by walkerminion
Summary: Hisoka never meant to steal Tsuzuki's pillow. It was an accident. At least, that's what he's going to keep telling himself. Pairings: TsuSoka, TaTari, Terazuma/Wakaba, & past Tsuzuki/Tatsumi relationship. Adult situations & occasional swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Scent of a Man

Hisoka's dreams had changed since the Kyoto case, and not for the better. The cherry tree was still in them, but now he lay dead beneath it with his eyes frozen glassy open, watching helplessly while Muraki did all the things to Tsuzuki that he'd once done to him.

Then there was the one where he wasn't strong enough. The one where he lost his grip on Tsuzuki and the shadow vacuum tore them apart. The dream always ended with Tsuzuki's pale stricken face screaming pain and betrayal at him as the wall of flames crashed between them.

And then there was the one where all he could think of was finding Muraki in the flames and cutting him to pieces with his own knife. But when he finally succeeded, Muraki gazed up at him with the eyes of Tsubaki Hime and asked, through bloodstained teeth, who was screaming. Then he glanced back and saw Tsuzuki dying behind him in a pillar of flame. And then he knew.

He was the one screaming. And he woke himself up with it every time.

None of which explained why he was still up at 3 AM on that particular night, or why he took a walk to stay awake, or why his steps just happened to lead him in the direction of the infirmary.

Or why he stole that pillow.

He hadn't meant to steal it. Not at first, anyway. Pillow-stealing was certainly the farthest thing from his mind as he peeked through the infirmary window. The curtains were cheap and ancient, and one of them had a rip just large enough to give him a view of the bed nearest the window. The bed where Tsuzuki slept.

It wasn't as if he was worried about his partner, or checking up on him or anything. And when he saw that his bed was empty, it never even occurred to him that something bad might have happened. Like Tsuzuki getting attacked by a centipede girl, or kidnapped by a mad doctor. Or trying to kill himself.

His logical mind kicked in right away, reminding him that Tsuzuki shared his habit of going for late night strolls. Well, his logic told him this after he'd teleported himself to Tsuzuki's bedside, grabbed hold of his sheets and sifted through the lingering threads of emotion for any sign of distress. When all he found was a quiet restlessness to match his own, he relaxed. And settled in to wait. Not because he was concerned, but just... because.

Tsuzuki's sheets were warm and smelled like him. Of sweat and bitter chocolate and man, filling the darkness with a residual sense of his presence. Hisoka sensed boredom, a feeling that was all too familiar from his years spent dying in the hospital. But there was happiness too. The fleeting pleasures of good food, of visitors and conversation. And something else, too.

Aching sweetness. Wonder. Echoes of surprise that bordered on disbelief. And below that a deeper emotion, one that he couldn't identify. It felt like dropping into an ocean of black velvet. It wrapped itself around him, fierce and dark and all-embracing, so intense that he thought he might drown in it. And somehow, that was okay. The darkness was familiar, it welcomed him. It felt like another part of himself, like he belonged there.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift, still listening with half his attention for the sound of footsteps in the hall. He wasn't sure when, exactly, he flopped over on his side, or how his head found its way onto the pillow.

Tsuzuki's pillow.

There was nothing particularly special about it. It was a standard-issue infirmary pillow, a bit lumpy but still comfortable. The only feature that distinguished it from any of a thousand other pillows was a large purplish stain on one corner. This was from one of Wakaba's blackberry jam tarts, which had somehow ended up face-down on the plain white pillowcase.

Tsuzuki had claimed the stain was good luck due to its supposed resemblance to a certain cartoon feline. Hisoka wouldn't know since didn't watch that much TV, but he'd decided not to argue the point. They'd survived the fire, they'd come through it together, and that was plenty enough luck for him.

As the pillow warmed to his body temperature, he began to detect hints of cinnamon and piney men's deodorant and 100 yen-store shampoo. Warm Tsuzuki smells that filled him with a sense of safety and peace. Of home. And wasn't that what he'd said to Tsuzuki when they were in the fire together? _You are my home._ Not exactly in those words, but still.

It was strange to think that, in spite of his dream, he hadn't even considered going after Muraki. And it wasn't that he'd consciously decided against it, it simply hadn't occurred to him. He wondered if he should be angry with himself for passing up a chance like that, but somehow it seemed irrelevant. The doctor had ceased to exist in his world once he saw Tsuzuki in the flames. It was as simple as that.

The silence of the room became the whisper of dry grasses, and the darkness became that of a starless sky. The only light came from the glimmer of fireflies, and the pillow in his arms began to feel heavier, more solid, like a second body cradled next to his. A boy's body, covered in mud and bruises, his dark hair matted with blood.

Tsuzuki.

A ripple of long-remembered hurt ghosted through him. He pressed closer trying to soothe away the ache, to lend heat to the smaller form. "It's okay," he whispered. And then, though the name felt strange on his tongue, he added, "Asato." Because that was what they must have called him then. What his sister must have called him. "You're safe now, no one's going to hurt you."

A loud clatter jolted him back to reality. For a moment he had no idea where he was. Then he realized with horror that he could feel Tsuzuki just outside the door. And here he was on the man's bed, hugging his pillow like it was some kind of life preserver.

Blind panic took over. He rolled from the bed and scrambled for the nearest hiding spot, which happened to be the curtain. He ducked behind it, flattened himself against the wall, and tried not to breathe.

Tsuzuki ambled into the room humming something tuneless. There was a rustle of heavy fabric which Hisoka guessed was the sound of Tsuzuki's trench coat landing on the back of the visitor's chair. Then a squeak of bed springs, followed by the soft thud of a sandal hitting the floor. Then silence. Hisoka had only a moment to appreciate the irony that he was literally waiting for the other shoe to drop before his senses registered a ripple of surprise from Tsuzuki. There was a repeat of the bedspring noise, followed by footsteps.

_He's looking for something,_ Hisoka thought. Then, with a gut-dropping sense of realization, he noticed that Tsuzuki's pillow was still clutched in his arms. Any moment now, Tsuzuki would look behind the curtain. Or bump against it. And then what? How in Enma's name would he ever explain _this?_

What happened next was a miracle. At least that's how it felt to Hisoka. There was a wave of drowsiness from Tsuzuki, accompanied by a general lack of interest in solving the mystery. The emotional equivalent of a shrug. Then the bed groaned again and, with a gentle sigh, the other shoe hit the floor.

Hisoka could have cried with relief, but he managed not to. He waited, listening until Tsuzuki's breaths lengthened into the restful cadence of sleep. Only then did he dare to emerge from his hiding place.

Tsuzuki was curled on his side, his lanky frame only half covered by the sheets. His head was pillowed awkwardly on one arm while the other, the one that was still covered in bandages even now that the last of his burns had healed, lay outstretched on the mattress. _Like he's reaching for something, _Hisoka thought. And then, with a guilty pang, he realized what. _His pillow._

It occurred to him that there was nothing to stop him from giving it back. If it was there in the morning, Tsuzuki would probably forget that it had ever been missing. Or he'd think it was a dream. He really _should_ give it back. And yet some secret, irrational part of himself rebelled at the thought. His arms tightened around the pillow reflexively, the reaction of a child unwilling to part with a beloved toy.

He crossed the room like a sleepwalker and got the pillow from the other bed. It was the pillow he'd used during his stay in the infirmary, and it was identical to Tsuzuki's in every way. Except for the jam stain, but surely that could be seen as a plus. He put it on Tsuzuki's bed next to his outstretched hand.

_There, _he told his conscience. _He's got a pillow, I've got a pillow. Everyone's happy, so shut the hell up._

Tsuzuki shifted, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. His long fingers brushed the fabric of the pillowcase. Then he shifted closer, draped an arm over the pillow and tucked his face against it. And smiled. A new emotion rippled outward from him, one that Hisoka recognized. The black velvet ocean feeling.

Hisoka bit his lip, marveling at the paradox that was Tsuzuki. How could the man who'd recently tried to kill himself draw such comfort from something so inconsequential? It was a mystery. He tucked the sheets around Tsuzuki, feeling greatly daring in doing so. And then he was gone, melting into the shadows like the spirit he was.

The black velvet ocean feeling followed him home. It was there waiting for him in the shadows of his bedroom, beckoning him towards a sleep that promised to be dreamless. He clicked on the light and stared at the pillow, trying to absorb the reality of what he'd just done.

He'd never stolen anything in his life. Or his afterlife either, for that matter. It wasn't that he was opposed to stealing, at least not in any absolute moral sense. For some people stealing was a matter of survival, he knew that. He might have done it himself if the things he'd lacked in life were things you could get by stealing.

Here in Meifu, he had everything he needed. A place to live, decent food, hot showers, a regular paycheck. He even had a family of sorts, in the form of his fellow Shinigami. He could afford to buy a pillow if he needed one. Which he didn't, since there were two perfectly serviceable pillows on his bed already.

He would have to take it back. But not tonight, he amended with a glance at his radio alarm. It was almost four-thirty and Watari would be up soon, if he wasn't already. Actually, Hisoka wasn't sure if Watari ever slept. No, he'd have to wait until the following night. Wake himself up at 3 AM, head to the infirmary and put the pillow somewhere unobtrusive. With luck, no one would even know it had been missing.

Satisfied with his decision, he flicked the light off and lay down. It was probably an accident that his cheek landed on Tsuzuki's pillow and not his own, but within moments the familiar scent and sense of his partner engulfed him. A black velvet wave swept over him and pulled him into fathomless sleep.

o-o-o-o

When Hisoka arrived at the office on his first day back at work, everything was just as he'd left it. There were the same files sitting in his "in" box, the same pencils stuck in the ceiling, the same candy wrappers scattered on the institutional gray carpet. The only slight change was that one of his plants had died, evidently from lack of water. And the empty ramen containers piled atop Tsuzuki's desk had acquired an extra layer of dust.

Hisoka cleared them away, trying not to think about what it would be like to do this knowing that Tsuzuki would never be coming back. Or what it would be like to come to work and find Tsuzuki's desk occupied by someone else. Someone who'd make sympathetic noises about his late partner's "accident" and ask if they were close. And then change the subject.

Accident. Incident. That's what everyone in the office called it, though mostly they avoided the topic altogether. Preparations were underway for the annual staff Christmas party, and Yuma and Saya were in charge. They'd persuaded Chief Konoe to play the role of Santa Claus, and seemed determined to get Hisoka into a matching elf costume, complete with tights.

Watari was up to his usual antics too. On Tuesday he spiked the water cooler with something that turned everyone's hair purple. Tatsumi predictably threw a fit at him for wasting the departmental budget on frivolities, and Watari blew up his lab to get back at him. The Count was experimenting with the weather, and when everyone arrived at work on Wednesday they found the cherry trees covered in pink snowflakes that, on close inspection, turned out to be shaped like hundreds of tiny naked men.

By Thursday, when Tsuzuki sailed through the doorway of their shared office carrying a box of donuts, the illusion was complete. Kyoto had officially never happened. Or if it had, Hisoka was the only one who remembered it.

"Good morning!" Tsuzuki crossed the room in a little pirouette that ended in front of Hisoka's desk.

Hisoka glanced up from his paperwork. "What's good about it?"

"So many things, Hisoka! For instance," Tsuzuki popped open the donut box, "Strawberry sprinkles, dark chocolate, or bear-claw?"

"Um, none of the above?"

Tsuzuki looked genuinely surprised by this response. "I had more flavors, but Watari and the Chief nabbed a bunch, and then I ran into Yuma and Saya and... well. I have an apple fritter left too. If you want."

"No. Thanks."

"Ah." Tsuzuki's relief was tangible. "Guess I'll have to eat it myself then!" He pulled the pastry from behind his back and started munching. "So, um... whatcha doin'?"

Hisoka set his pen down. "I could ask you the same thing. Aren't you supposed to be in the infirmary?"

"Nope! Watari says I'm well enough to be up and about, so I thought I'd celebrate."

"By getting high on sugar?"

"Well, not _just_ that." Tsuzuki went over to his own desk and flopped down in his chair. He swung his feet onto the blotter, overturning the neat stack of paperwork Hisoka had piled there for him, and smiled up at the pencils as if he were greeting some old friends.

He did look better, Hisoka thought. More rested. The dark circles were gone from under his eyes, and his skin had regained its usual caramel shade. Even the bandage was gone from his right wrist. In its place was a cheap vinyl watch strap that was, as far as Hisoka could tell, identical to the one he'd worn before Kyoto.

"So you thought you'd drop in and harass me too?"

"Well..." Tsuzuki's mood changed abruptly. He shifted in his chair and took another mouthful of fritter. "I wanted to, ah... ask you something." He stared past Hisoka's shoulder, chewing mechanically.

Tension fluttered alive in Hisoka's belly. "What?" His voice cracked infuriatingly. He scowled at the carpet, suddenly wishing he was somewhere else.

Maybe his question had sounded angry, because Tsuzuki swallowed his food with an audible gulp. "Um, maybe this is a bad time," he said, coloring slightly. Then his smile was back in place. The leaden sense of fear lifted, and Hisoka realized it had been coming from both of them. "So hey, ah, what are you working on?"

Hisoka rolled his eyes. "Paperwork." As if it wasn't perfectly obvious.

"Really?" Tsuzuki bounced from his chair. "Need help?"

"No, I... hey! Get away, you're dripping crumbs on my desk!"

"Sorry," Tsuzuki said, sounding anything but. He'd crossed the room in two strides and was leaning over Hisoka's shoulder, his breath warm against the side of his neck. "Ah, the Toshiaki case! I thought we filed that. Did Tatsumi send it back?"

"Um..." Hisoka glanced down at the papers on his desk. He'd instinctively stuffed the report he was working on under an older case file. Great. Now even he was doing it, trying to pretend that Kyoto had never happened. He could feel the beginnings of a headache starting behind his temples. Tsuzuki was still bristling with pent-up nervous energy and it made him queasy. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the man smelled wrong.

Smelled wrong? Where the heck had that come from? But... he did. Not in a bad way. It wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was clean and sandalwood-y, with hints of some exotic spice that Hisoka couldn't identify. But it wasn't a Tsuzuki smell.

He was still turning this fact over in his mind when a wave of fear crashed over him. Several long seconds dragged by as he slowly figured out that it wasn't coming from him. Most of it, anyway. Tsuzuki was staring past his shoulder at something on his desk, his face gray, and Hisoka realized with shock that a corner of his report was still visible.

_Shion University. Flames. Casualties..._

He hid the corner under his pen jar, even though it was obviously too late. Tsuzuki sucked in a harsh breath and took a step backwards, his left hand straying to his watch strap.

_Ah ha,_ Hisoka thought with sickening satisfaction. _So it did happen._ It was a cruel, uncharitable thought, and he had just enough time to start feeling guilty about it before a gigantic sneeze rocked through him. And another. And then a third.

"Hisoka? Are you all right?" Tsuzuki grabbed his arm. Another whiff of that strange, not-Tsuzuki smell rolled off him and Hisoka sneezed again, this time so violently that stars exploded behind his eyelids.

"Tsuzuki, get away from me!" he choked. He jumped from his seat and stumbled away from Tsuzuki. "It's you."

"Me?" Tsuzuki sounded hurt.

"Idiot! I don't mean you-you." Hisoka was fumbling with the window latch. It opened with a grudging squeak, and Hisoka gulped sakura-scented air. "I mean... you're wearing something. Aren't you?"

"Wearing something?" Tsuzuki glanced down at himself as if he thought Hisoka might be referring to his outfit. Which was, Hisoka suddenly noticed, new. Well, it looked new. And several notches more expensive than what he normally wore. Not that Hisoka was some kind of fashion expert, but even he could tell that the dark suit was tailored to hug Tsuzuki's frame, and that his shirt, which was a smoky eggplant shade that echoed the color of his eyes, was cut from some kind of fancy material.

"Scent," Hisoka clarified, his eyes streaming. "You're wearing some kind of cologne."

Tsuzuki instantly turned scarlet. "Uhm... sorta yeah." His hands fluttered upwards in a helpless gesture. "You, ah... like it?"

"Like it?" Hisoka grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box on Tsuzuki's desk just in time to stifle another sneeze. He threw the box at his partner as an afterthought. "I'm fucking _allergic_ to it, you--" he was cut short by another violent sneeze. "Moron," he finished, dabbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I had no idea," Tsuzuki babbled, trailing after him as he stomped towards the door. "If I'd known I never would've--"

"Don't follow me, you idiot! Just go and wash that crap off!"

"Um... yeah! Good idea." Tsuzuki scurried off in the direction of the men's room while Hisoka headed for Watari's lab. He made it almost halfway before his conscience started in with nagging suggestions that perhaps he'd been unfair. Tsuzuki couldn't have known that he was allergic to that particular cologne, after all. He hadn't even known himself. But really, this had nothing to do with cologne, did it? It was that damned _watch._

He knew Tsuzuki was a creature of habit, that he got sentimentally attached to things. That he still owned phonograph records he'd bought in the 1930's. And he knew all about scars and the reasons for keeping them hidden. But why did it have to be the same watch?

Everything that happened in Kyoto was getting glossed over. Covered up like Tsuzuki's suicide scars, his words in the fire along with everything else. They seemed faintly embarrassing in retrospect, an adolescent outburst best filed under the category of things one politely agreed not to talk about.

But it had meant something, dammit, and he refused to believe that it was just because they were both about to die. He remembered how Tsuzuki's arms had gone around him slowly, tentatively, as if he was afraid this was just a dream. Tsuzuki's voice, soft and rough, barely daring to breathe. Not that there was much air left anyway. But still.

"Is it all right for me to be here?"

And then, with Hisoka's reply, something broke. Like a dam, or the walls of a prison cell. Aching joy, a wash of relief so profound it almost hurt. Tsuzuki's arms tightened around him in searing welcome, bringing him close, embracing him body and soul. It was the last thing they would ever do, and it was perfect. They belonged, here and to each other, and everything that had gone before, all the moments that led up to this one suddenly made sense.

Except that they'd survived. And that made everything so much more complicated, didn't it?

He reached the door of Watari's lab and knocked.

The door cracked open and a single brown eye peered owlishly at him from behind a round pair of glasses. A second pair of eyes joined the first one. These belonged to an actual owl, .003, who gazed at Hisoka with solemn intensity from the wild tangles of Watari's of blond hair, which she appeared to be making a nest of.

"Morning, Bon!" Watari said cheerfully, throwing the door wide. His emotions transmitted an indecipherable mix of relief and disappointment that made Hisoka wonder who he'd been expecting. "What can I do ya for?"

"Well, um, I--" Hisoka started, but a violent sneeze cut him off.

"Ah! Gotcha. Well come on in, let's have a look."


	2. Chapter 2

"It's an allergic reaction all right," Watari confirmed after a few minutes of poking, prodding and pulse-taking. "And I've got just the thing for it. At least, I think I do." He dropped his stethoscope on top of a messy stack of computer printouts and bent to rummage through the storage cupboards under his workbench.

Hisoka caught glimpses of dusty jars containing vaguely organic-looking shapes, ancient syringes, one still half filled with a glowing greenish liquid, scissors, scalpels, yellowed lengths of rubber tubing, and a glass case containing what looked like a mummified hand. "That's okay," he said hastily. "I'm sure the drugstore has--"

"Ah yes, here it is!" Watari threw him a bottle of pills. "Take a couple of these and it should settle down."

Hisoka eyed the bottle suspiciously. "What are they?"

"Antihistamines. From the drugstore."

"The label's gone."

"Ah?" Watari had opened a large, ledger-like notebook and was busily transcribing columns of numbers onto his laptop computer. "Oh yeah, sorry. I spilled something on the bottle, but they're just over-the-counter allergy meds. They won't turn you into a girl, I promise."

Hisoka watched him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to trust him. Watari's emotions were impossible to read, as complex and ever-changing as the colors inside a kaleidoscope. Right now, though, his attention seemed consumed by his current task. Whatever that was. Hisoka decided to risk it. He got a glass of water from the sink and swallowed two of the pills. "What are you working on?" he asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Oh, just a silly personal project," Watari said distractedly. "I've been charting a subject's emotional reactions to various stimuli over the past six months. It's rather subjective, of course, since it requires assigning a numeric value to phenomena that are, by nature, difficult to quantify. In the end I settled for a simple ranking system based on observable physical responses, such as changes in breathing, skin coloration and so forth. My predictive model seems flawed, however, since the result I was expecting did not materialize."

"What result were you expecting?"

"Well, you probably sensed that you weren't the visitor I was hoping for," Watari said, still typing. "No offense."

"None taken." Hisoka watched in fascination as Watari's long fingers flew across the keys. "Um... who were you expecting?"

"I must say I envy your ability to read other people's emotions," Watari said obliquely. "It must make things so much easier where it comes to relationships and such." He finished typing and pressed the "enter" key. The screen went blank for a moment, then lit up with a complex set of graphs. He leaned forward on his stool, studying the results avidly. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he closed the laptop. "It's as I suspected. My calculations are correct, which has to mean that my data are flawed. Or that there's some variable I haven't accounted for. Looks like I'll have to start the project over from scratch."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's all right. I've been waiting this long, I might as well wait a little bit--" he stopped himself in mid-sentence, dismissing the thought with a shake of his head. "Anyway, Bon. How are you feeling?"

Hisoka realized that he'd stopped sniffling. "Better," he admitted, trying not to sound surprised.

"Oh, good good." Watari clapped him on the shoulder. "Not to give you the bum's rush or anything, but I'd really like to get on with re-calibrating my data. I'm sure you understand."

Hisoka didn't, really, but he allowed Watari to steer him towards the door. It flew open just as they were approaching, and he jumped back just in time to avoid getting hit in the face. He found himself eyeball-to-mid-chest with Tatsumi, Meifu's formidable Underworld Secretary.

"Watari-san," Tatsumi said in a voice that dropped the room's temperature by several degrees. "Would you care to explain why my office is filled with these?" He threw something to the floor in front of Hisoka.

It seemed at first to be a crumpled piece of paper, but then it unfolded itself and stood up, shakily dusting itself off. It was a scribbled drawing of Tatsumi himself, complete with glasses and a pocketful of badly-drawn 100-yen bills. In its hand was a sign that clearly read, _All work and no play makes Tatsumi a dull boy._

Watari let out a joyful whoop. "It worked, it worked!" he crowed, jumping up and down. "My data must be correct after all, my timing's just a little off. I must re-run my numbers to see where I miscalculated."

_"This_ is the result you were expecting?" Hisoka asked, mystified as to why anyone would want Tatsumi mad at them.

Tatsumi's face darkened further. "What, in Enma's name, are the two of you two talking about?"

"Nothing, nothing," Watari said. "Bon was just leaving. Weren't you, Bon?" He grabbed Hisoka's arm and shoved him into the hallway. "Bye-bye! Hope that sinus thing works out!"

"Wait," Hisoka said, "I still have your--" the door slammed shut in his face, "pills." When repeated knocks had no effect, he set the pills down by the door and started back towards the office.

He knew he owed Tsuzuki an apology. That much seemed painfully obvious now that his head was clearing. He'd yelled at him over something so minor, something that wasn't even his fault. He'd upset him. And hadn't Tsuzuki been about to ask him something? Hisoka wondered what his question would have been. For some reason, the thought stirred nervous flutters in his belly, but he chalked them up to to the fact that apologies weren't one of his strong points. It wasn't something that the Kurosaki family was particularly known for. He tried not to feel too relieved when he found their shared office empty.

"Tsuzuki?"

He checked the hallway and the men's room, but those too were empty. Then a small shuffling sound drew his attention to a door at the end of the hallway. The lunch room--of course. He was about to open the door when the sound of a too-familiar giggle froze him.

"Oh, come on!" Yuma's voice echoed from behind the door. "If he won't even wear the elf costume, what makes you think he's going to wear _that?"_

"Hey, can't a girl dream?" Saya's voice replied. "It's so perfect with the ribbons and the little frilly bits around the sleeves. With a little pink lip gloss and some eyeliner, he'd--"

"Ooh, he'd be divine!"

"I know, right?"

More giggles.

Hisoka shuddered, trying not to imagine what the pair were talking about. He extended his empathic senses in a cautious sweep of the lunch room, but found only the fizzy, bubbly, over-caffeinated presence of the two women. Tsuzuki wasn't in there, which was probably just as well. He could hear the sounds of chairs being pushed around and realized that Yuma and Saya were on the move. He hurried back to the office.

"Speaking of divine, did you happen to notice what Tsuzuki was wearing today?" Saya asked, her voice echoing loudly in the hallway.

"How could I miss it? I guess this means that the rumors are true."

"What rumors?"

"Well," Yuma's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "you didn't hear this from me, but apparently Tatsumi's been picking his outfits for him."

"What?" Saya sounded indignant.

"Shh!"

"Don't shush me, this is outrageous! Why would he go to Mr. Brown Polyester for fashion tips when he's got _us?"_

_"I _don't know--hey! Saya, where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm going to give that moron a piece of my mind!"

A clatter of heels advanced towards the office. Hisoka ducked behind the door, the only available hiding spot. There was no telling what kind of outfit they might force him into if they caught him alone.

"Looks like he's gone home," Yuma said, sounding relieved. Her voice was now just inches from Hisoka's ear. "Maybe you can talk to him next time you see him."

"Damn right. This isn't over! I'm going to pick his outfit for the Christmas party whether he likes it or not."

An image of Tsuzuki in a black velvet evening gown, complete with satin gloves and a sparkly necklace, imposed itself on Hisoka's mind. He gritted his teeth and blocked it out as well as he could, though the women's close proximity was making it difficult.

"Why's he getting help with his fashion sense, anyway?" Saya asked suddenly. "I mean, why start _now?" _

Yuma was silent for a moment. "Well... maybe he's got a date."

_Date? _The word dropped into Hisoka's mind like a rock into a clear mountain lake, sending out ripples of confusion.

"You think?"

"Well yeah. It makes perfect sense, doesn't it?"

_No, _Hisoka thought fiercely. It made no sense at all. It was a stupid idea, utterly ridiculous, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying so out loud.

"Not really."

"Oh, come on, Saya. Just think for a minute. It's pretty obvious."

There was a flicker of confusion. Then... "Oh! Really? You actually think...?"

"Of course!"

"Oh my. Well, this changes everything."

"It does?"

"Certainly! I mean for one thing, we're going to need a heck of a lot more mistletoe. And the music--"

"More slow waltzes?"

"You got it. In fact we should probably change the whole theme. Come on, we've got so much work to do!"

Hisoka waited until the women's footsteps had faded to silence. Then he slammed the door, locked it, and sank down at his desk. He dug out the report he'd been working on, the one that spoke of flames and death and Muraki while carefully avoiding the word "suicide," and stared at it numbly. Yuma and Saya were crazy. That much was obvious, because of course Tsuzuki wasn't dating anyone. How could he? He'd been in the infirmary for the past six weeks, and he'd spent the first of those in a coma. How could he even meet anyone? The idea was ridiculous.

And yet.

He remembered Tsuzuki's mood from earlier. The barely contained excitement, that bubble of nervous energy crackling around him like an electrical field. Had it been more than just a sugar rush? He pictured the Christmas party and Tsuzuki dancing with someone under the mistletoe, swaying to the beat of an old-fashioned waltz. Whose head would be on his shoulder?

The first image that came to mind was of long, black, tangled hair. Hisae? Well it couldn't be her, she'd been dead for years. Hijiri, then? He knew that Tsuzuki had returned at least some of the young violinist's feelings, but the match seemed awkward when he tried to picture them dancing together. Hijiri was so much shorter, the same height as Hisoka, and Tsuzuki would have to scrunch down to dance with him. But then he remembered it had been two years since he'd last seen Hijiri. He was eighteen by now, and he'd have the body of a man. He could be as tall as Tsuzuki by now. Or taller. Maybe it would be Tsuzuki's head resting on _his_ shoulder.

_Or mine, _a cold voice whispered. His mental image of Tsuzuki and Hijiri dissolved into a much clearer, more solid memory of Tsuzuki and Muraki in the high school infirmary in Kyoto. They'd been standing so close when he burst in on them. He thought he'd interrupted an argument, but what if it had been something else? An iron taste rose in his throat as he remembered his dream of Tsuzuki and Muraki under the sakura tree.

Was _that_ what Tsuzuki wanted? Or maybe just what he thought he deserved. He glanced over at Tsuzuki's desk. The empty donut box lay parked on its side, his paperwork dotted with sticky bits of frosting. Three days, he thought. Muraki had him for three whole days. He remembered the dead look in Tsuzuki's eyes when he'd found him, the thin yukata he'd been wearing, his bare wrist with the scars gleaming in the light of the flames.

A sick feeling swept over him, and he knew suddenly that he had to find Tsuzuki, _now. _He dumped the Kyoto report into a drawer where it would be safe from prying eyes and headed for the door. His denim jacket was on the coat rack just inside the main office area. He considered leaving it where it was, but then noticed the black trench coat hanging beside it.

So Tsuzuki hadn't gone home. Or he'd left without his coat, which would give Hisoka a good reason to yell at him. He ran his hand lightly over the sleeve. It was cool under his palm and smelled of Tsuzuki and the outdoors, that odd mixture of cherry blossoms and autumn leaves that only made sense if you were a Shinigami.

He closed his eyes, breathing it in as he hunted through the remnants of emotion that clung to the fabric. He knew this was an invasion of Tsuzuki's privacy, but right now he didn't care. He _had_ to know. Muraki's presence was there all right. It was faded, though, like an image in an old photo. He released the coat with a sigh of relief. Whoever Tsuzuki's "date" was, it obviously wasn't Muraki.

He grabbed his jacket, and was about to slip back into the hallway when the sound of Tsuzuki's voice caught him short. "I can't help worrying!" he heard him say. "Why do I always ruin everything?"

"Tsuzuki-san. You're being ridiculous." The second voice was Tatsumi's, and it was his office that the conversation was coming from. Hisoka saw that the door was standing slightly open.

"No I'm not! It's like a curse, or something. Everything I touch breaks."

"You're just exhausted. Go home and sleep. Things will look different in the morning, believe me."

There was a moment of sullen silence. Tsuzuki was, of course, the source of the dark indigo feeling that stained the air like a bruise. No one but Tsuzuki could ever feel quite like that. Tatsumi's emotions were subtler, affection mixed with sadness and something else. Something that felt weirdly familiar.

"I guess you're right," Tsuzuki said at last. "Thanks for all your help. You're a good friend, Tatsumi."

Hisoka sensed a tightening in Tatsumi, as if some long-repressed feeling was being held in check. "Relationships are never easy," he said, almost too quietly for Hisoka to hear. "I don't think they're supposed to be. But your happiness matters to me a great deal." There was the sound of a chair being pushed back. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend."

"Oh! Oh yes, right. Of course."

There were more shuffling noises, followed by footsteps coming towards the door. Hisoka teleported, not really caring where he ended up as long as it was somewhere away from the office. He found himself beside the lake. Which wasn't surprising, considering how often he ate lunch there.

He took shelter beneath one of the great willows that grew along the water's edge and sat down, pulling his knees up to his chin. This was one of his favorite reading places. It was a good thinking place, too. Not that he felt much like thinking. He stared out across sparkling water, squinting until the flakes of light blurred into a dance of fireflies.

_Tatsumi._

He didn't know what they'd been talking about, but the emotions had been so real, so tangible. It made sense, he guessed. They'd known each other for a long time. They used to be partners. And hadn't he himself asked Tatsumi to stay close to Tsuzuki during the Kyoto case? Maybe Tatsumi had decided to get close in other ways too.

Hisoka told himself that he should be pleased about this. Tatsumi cared for Tsuzuki, wanted to make him happy. He'd even said so. Surely it was a relief to think of Tsuzuki being involved with someone who wanted the best for him rather than a person like Muraki, who only wanted to hurt him. So why did he feel like his chest was full of broken glass?

It was just so damned easy to picture the two of them together, walking side by side through neon-washed streets. He imagined Tatsumi holding up his umbrella to shelter Tsuzuki from the rain. That seemed like the kind of thing Tatsumi would do, and he was tall enough to do it. People would turn to look at them as they passed. They were both handsome men, they'd make a striking pair.

He wondered where they would go together. A night club? No, try as he might, he couldn't picture Tatsumi in a night club. An izakaya, perhaps. Cozy yet traditional, with a steady flow of warm sake and plenty of fried things for Tsuzuki to gobble up. The kind of place where two adult, _fully grown_ men might go to enjoy each other's company.

Hisoka imagined them talking. Tsuzuki would be his usual animated self, babbling on about this, that and the other thing while Tatsumi merely listened, his blue eyes warm behind the frames of his steel-rimmed glasses. Then at some point he'd reach across the table and take hold of Tsuzuki's hand. There'd be a moment of blank startlement, as if this were the last thing Tsuzuki had been expecting. Then, maybe, a tightening of Tsuzuki's grip on Tatsumi's hand, a twining of their fingers together in tacit permission as Tatsumi leaned across the table and...

Hisoka sprang to his feet, his heart pounding. He was in a cold sweat, jolts of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wanted to run, scream, _do_ something, but there was nowhere to go, no one to hear him, nothing to be done. And besides, everything was fine. He was _happy_ about this. Just thrilled. Really.

He shoved aside the curtain of willow branches and stomped out into the sunshine. And nearly tripped over Wakaba, who was unrolling a red-checkered picnic blanket. "Oh, hi Hisoka! Sorry, I didn't see you there. Did I interrupt your reading?"

Hisoka shook his head. "It's all right. I wasn't reading, I should get back anyway." He started to hurry away, but she called after him.

"Hisoka?"

"Aa?"

"If you're going back to the office, it's that way."

"Um. Oh, right."

"Hisoka? Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Of course everything's all right! What on earth would make you think it isn't?"

She stared at him, radiating hurt surprise. Then a trickle of amusement crept in, registering as a slight deepening of the dimples around her mouth. "Oh gosh, I can't imagine what would make me think anything's wrong." She knelt on the blanket and started to unpack her picnic basket. Out came cups and plates, an assortment of sandwiches, kushi dango on bamboo skewers, green salad, and a pumpkin pie. "Hajime's joining me in a few minutes, but in the meantime would you like some tea?" she asked, uncapping a large thermos.

The fragrant aroma of green tea drifted to Hisoka on the breeze, making his belly growl. He suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten any lunch. "Come on," she said. She filled a cup and set it down for him, patting the edge of the blanket in invitation. "You can tell me what's on your mind, if you want. I'm a good listener."

That much was true. Wakaba was also one of the few people in the office who actually seemed capable of keeping a secret. "It's no big deal," he said, though he accepted the tea. It was delicious, as was the simple cucumber sandwich she put on a plate for him.

"It seems like it might be a big deal to you," she observed.

"It's just... I overheard something, that's all. I shouldn't take it seriously."

"Probably not. Most of the gossip that flies around the office is just that--gossip."

"Yeah." He took another bite of his sandwich. Wakaba was right. What he'd overheard were just Yuma and Saya's speculations. There was no reason to think that it was even true. Except. Except for that piercing ache of _something_ that he'd felt from Tatsumi. The emotion that for some reason had felt so familiar. Maybe he'd been picking up on it for a long time without realizing. Did that mean that Tatsumi had felt that way for a long time? And if so, why had he never acted on it?

"How can you tell when two people are dating?" he asked suddenly. He was staring at the delicate floral pattern on the side of his cup rather than her, but he could still feel his face getting hot.

"Dating? Well," Wakaba said teasingly, "I suppose if you see them together a lot, that might be a clue."

Hisoka rolled his eyes. "I figured _that_ much. Isn't there anything more specific?"

"Apart from the obvious, you mean? The holding hands, the kissing, the gazing deeply into each other's eyes?"

Hisoka cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Wakaba sipped her tea. "Sometimes there's just a connection," she said at last. "You can feel it in the way two people act when they're around each other. How they move and talk as if each knows what the other is thinking."

"So they can read each other's mind?" Hisoka couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. He'd been reading people's minds as far back as he could remember, and there was nothing special about it. Most of the time, it was just annoying.

"I don't know about that," Wakaba said. "But sometimes it can seem that way. When two people can finish each other's sentences, or when one is sad and the other knows just how to comfort them." She was gazing across the lake, her expression wistful. "Some people say that's one of the ways you can tell when two people are in love."

_In love._ Hisoka turned the phrase over in his mind. It always seemed strange to him that people talked about being "in" love, as if it was a room you could walk into. Like the kitchen or the bathroom. "Do you think that's true?" he asked softly.

"You mean, is that how you can tell?" Wakaba tipped her head to the side, regarding him thoughtfully. "I don't think it's ever that simple, Hisoka. Not really. But I do think that when someone falls in love, they'll eventually figure it out for themselves."

There was another expression he'd never much cared for. Falling; it made love sound like something that just happened, like tripping down the stairs or falling asleep. Something you had no control over.

A third presence suddenly brushed the edges of his senses. He saw Wakaba straighten, her gaze shifting expectantly towards the Diet building, and he glanced in that direction just in time to see Terazuma come around the corner.

"Hajime!" Wakaba waved to him. "Over here!"

Terazuma spotted them and started to come over. Hisoka gave Wakaba a questioning look, but she just smiled. "See?"

**AN:** Sorry it took me so long to update this story! The next chapter will be along much more quickly than this one was, I promise. I want to send a HUGE thank you to Trans, my fabulous beta reader, whose insightful comments are making the story so much better than I could have made it on my own. Also, thank you very much to everyone who left comments on the first chapter. It really means a lot to me, and I'll try to get better about replying. In the meantime, stay tuned for Chapter Three, in which Hisoka asks himself the all-important question: Who the hell would steal their coworker's sweaty, jam-stained pillow anyway?


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning:** This chapter contains sexual content. For me that's a bonus, but I thought I'd mention it now in case not every reader feels the same way. For those who _do_ feel the same way, read on and enjoy! :-)

-o-o-o-o-

Hisoka's dinner was an assortment of leftovers, microwaved and eaten at the kitchen counter because the thought of carrying his plate over to the small kotatsu table in his living room seemed like more effort than it was worth. When he was done, he shoved his bowl and chopsticks in the sink and drizzled a few globs of liquid soap over them. He was reaching for the faucet when his phone rang.

"Hisoka?" It was Tsuzuki's voice on the line. "You never came back to the office. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Watari said it was allergies."

Tsuzuki sighed. "I'm sorry. I'd never have worn that cologne if I'd realized."

"It's okay." Hisoka took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're okay."

Hisoka shrugged, forgetting that his partner couldn't see him. "You don't have to wear that stuff to impress anyone." He cranked the faucet as far as it would go and watched as the sink began to fill with frothy suds.

There was a soft laugh from Tsuzuki. "So I've been told."

"By Tatsumi-san?" A cold feeling gripped Hisoka's insides.

There was a flicker of startlement from Tsuzuki, and Hisoka marveled at how clearly he could sense his partner's emotions, even over the phone. "Yeah," Tsuzuki said finally. "How did you know?"

"Just a guess."

"Hisoka?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're okay? Maybe I should come over. Don't worry about the cologne, I washed it all off."

"Don't be stupid. I'm just tired, that's all."

There was a long pause. "Hisoka?"

The sink was almost full. Hisoka reached to shut off the tap. "What?"

"Are you still mad at me?"

Hisoka's hand hesitated in mid motion. "No, of course not."

"Then I can come over?"

"No."

"You _are_ mad at me."

"No, I'm not!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Hisoka suddenly felt sick of the whole conversation. "I already told you. Go and enjoy yourself, I'm... fine." He hung up the phone. It started to ring again almost immediately. He turned it off and then reached to shut the tap off as well, but it was too late. Sopay water slopped over his bare toes. He cursed and went to get a tea towel.

Once he'd restored a semblance of order to the kitchen, he took his evening bath, put on a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers, and crawled into bed. He really was tired, but he forced himself to read for a while anyway. The book of Solomonic summoning rituals he'd borrowed from the library was due in a couple of days, and he was only on chapter three. He propped it open on his lap and dutifully tried to immerse himself in the explanations of magical alphabets and black mirrors and demons with strange Latin-sounding names. He couldn't focus. The more he stared at the pages the more the words seemed to crawl, forming images of Tsuzuki and Tatsumi out on their date.

He saw them kissing and holding hands just as Wakaba had suggested that dating people might do. He imagined them gazing into one another's eyes and finishing each other's sentences. The book wasn't helping. He snapped it shut and turned off the light. In the dark he curled over on his side, burrowing his cheek against his pillow.

Tsuzuki's scent was still there, faded but still perceptible. He gripped the pillow against his chest and breathed in, letting it fill his senses. "Asato," he whispered. The boy on the riverbank turned into his arms, seeking warmth. A wet face pressed against his collarbone, and he buried his hands in matted hair. A deep stillness filled him, as it had every night since he stole the pillow, and he let himself fall.

Tonight, his sleep wasn't dreamless. It started on the riverbank with the boy and the fireflies but his phone kept ringing, and when he got up to answer he realized it wasn't his phone at all, it was his doorbell. And when he opened the door...

"Muraki!" He stumbled backwards, tripping on the hall carpet in his panic to escape. The man in the trench coat glided towards him, blotting out the light of the full moon. Hisoka couldn't run. Some unseen force was slowing his movements, and it felt like he was trying to run through heavy syrup.

The room wavered. When it became solid again, the man was on top of him. Hisoka could feel his weight pressing him down into the carpet while the folds of the trench coat settled around them like great dark wings. His own clothes were gone. Sick terror choked his breathing as his whole being shriveled with terror _not again!_ He twisted against the man's grip, fighting to dislodge him.

On some level he knew that none of this was really happening, but that never helped. He could never escape the grasping hands, the pain, or the suffocating weight of emotions. That was the worst part, worse even than the physical violation. There was no way to stop himself from feeling the pleasure that Muraki took in breaking him, in tearing him open and watching him die over and over, night after night.

But the tide of feelings flowing over him now weren't those. They weren't Muraki's. The hand that cupped the side of his face was gentle, the thumb tracing his cheekbone in what felt like a wordless plea. Hisoka forced his eyes to open. "Tsu... Tsuzuki?"

There was a quiver of relief from the man, and the shadowed face above him smiled. The boy from the riverbank was gazing down at him through the eyes of his partner. "Hisoka." A damp forehead pressed against his own, and the rush of feeling that came with that gesture was unmistakable.

How could he ever have thought it was anyone but Tsuzuki? And now that he knew, it seemed natural to touch him. To bury his hands in soft hair, to close his eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of him. He curled a hand around the back of Tsuzuki's neck and pulled their faces close without knowing why. But when Tsuzuki's mouth brushed his own, he understood.

_Oh. _Yes, of course.

This should frighten him, but it somehow didn't. The kiss was so warm and gentle, yielding rather than taking, and the arms wrapping around his torso felt like a support rather than a trap. He felt anchored there, sheltered within a secret darkness of arms-cloth-feathers. An ache of longing welled inside him and he opened into the kiss, a groan escaping without his permission.

He was becoming very aware of his nakedness, of Tsuzuki's body pressed against him full length. His body was doing things on its own, things that didn't make sense. He was lifting his knees, winding his legs around a taut waist, his palms gliding restlessly on heated skin. Tsuzuki was scattering kisses on his eyes, his cheeks, his throat, and he let his head fall back with a groan of Tsuzuki's name.

"Please." He didn't know what he was asking for. Only that there was something he desperately needed, something he didn't have a name for just now. But that didn't seem to matter. A raw, aching heat was slowly filling him, touching all the craving places inside him and lighting them one by one. Like stars. It felt as if they were becoming molten in all the places where they touched. As if they were merging, melting into each other.

Then they were moving together in a weightless dance. It was like flying. Hisoka's body arched into Tsuzuki's, following a rhythm all its own, and then without quite intending to he grabbed hold of Tsuzuki's arms and rolled on top of him. He bent low and sealed their mouths together, his need for oxygen apparently suspended along with the usual laws of physics.

Tsuzuki made a tiny sound at the back of his throat, almost a whimper, and Hisoka's answering groan didn't even sound like his own voice. It was deep and raspy and seemed to come from somewhere down around his toes. He broke the kiss and threw his head back--

--screamed--

--and his eyes flew open.

He was in his bedroom. Astride Tsuzuki's pillow, hips grinding frantically. Alone. He froze, staring down at himself as his brain struggled to catch up with what his body was doing. Then he dove for the box of tissues on his night stand in a desperate bid to prevent the inevitable. It was too late. His body spasmed, and he felt a gush of sticky warmth inside his shorts.

For a moment he remained exactly where he was, hand poised above the tissue box. Then he collapsed in a heap, listening to the slowing of his heartbeat while he tried really, really hard to not think about what had just happened. Apparently, he'd been monumentally stupid. Not that that was anything new, but he sensed that he'd crossed a whole new threshold of idiocy.

Who the hell would steal their coworker's sweaty, jam-stained pillow? No one. Well, with the possible exception of the Count, but that wasn't a very comforting thought. How could he have failed to see where this whole pillow-swiping business was going? Normal people didn't go around stealing other people's dirty bed linens. And they certainly didn't _sleep_ with them.

He rolled off the bed with a groan, taking most of the bedclothes with him, and dumped them, pillow and all, into his laundry basket. It took a shower and two loads of laundry, with extra bleach, before he started to feel somewhat capable of approaching the topic in his mind. This he did over a breakfast of coffee and dry toast at an all-night restaurant, since the idea of going back to bed at this point was clearly unthinkable.

It wasn't like he hadn't known, or at least suspected, that he might be gay. In the back of his mind he'd always wondered if Muraki had sensed that about him, and if that was what had motivated him to attack him in the particular way that he had. Sometimes he wondered if his parents had known it too. But as unpleasant as those ideas were, they paled in comparison to the disturbing realization that some part of him--maybe a large part--wanted Tsuzuki to do _that_ to him. The thing that Muraki had done.

The dream had couched it in metaphors, but the meaning was obvious. And that made no sense at all. He wasn't naive, he knew that guys did that. And apparently liked it, though he couldn't imagine why. Even without the accompanying blood-soaked memories, the act seemed, at the very least, incredibly unsanitary.

Perhaps he should consider himself lucky, then, that it wasn't something he'd ever have to worry about. His reflection stared back at him from the restaurant window like one of King Solomon's mirror demons: a boyishly round face with wide green eyes, a small mouth, and ears that stuck out because he'd never had a chance to grow into them.

The overall effect was child-like, and it didn't make the least bit of difference that he was actually eighteen. He'd look the same when he was eighty, when he was a hundred and eight. He'd never be tall enough to hold an umbrella above Tsuzuki's head, he'd never be able to set foot in a bar without being asked for ID, and people who saw them together would always assume they were teacher and student, uncle and nephew.

Tsuzuki needed someone mature, someone who could weather the storms of his depression and force him to see his own worthiness. Someone who could reassure him he was lovable, and loved. He needed an adult. And if Tatsumi happened to be that person, as Tsuzuki had said that he was, well that just made sense.

Hisoka gulped down the rest of his coffee and headed for the library. He had two hours to go before work started, two hours in which he could, with any luck, finish another chapter of his book. It was Gushoshin Younger, one of the librarians, who woke him.

"Hisoka-san!" the little chicken-god chirruped. "What are you doing sleeping here?"

Hisoka straightened woozily. He'd been slumped face down over his book, his head resting on his arms. "Hnn... what time is it?" he asked. Beams of multi-colored sunshine were streaming down through the stained glass skylights, turning Gushoshin Younger's white plumage an unlikely shade of violet.

"It's just after ten," the librarian informed him. "Tatsumi-san asked me to see if you were in here."

"Shit!" Hisoka jumped to his feet, and instantly regretted it. His head felt like it had been split open with a machete, and there now appeared to be two purple chicken-gods hovering in front of him. "You don't have any aspirin, do you?"

When he arrived at work, everyone was at their desks looking conspicuously busy. He hung his fawn coat next to the empty peg where Tsuzuki's trench coat would normally hang, and slunk towards their shared office. He'd only made it about halfway before Tatsumi's door swung open.

"Kurosaki-kun. Could I have a word with you?"

"Whoops," Terazuma said under his breath. Hisoka pretended not to hear him, and that he couldn't feel the speculative glances of his co-workers following him across the room to Tatsumi's office.

"Shut the door," Tatsumi ordered. He was standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, his attention seemingly captivated by the cherry branches swaing in the breeze outside.

Hisoka hovered inside the door, unsure whether he should say anything. "I'm sorry," he said finally, when the silence became too much. "It won't happen again, I promise."

Tatsumi turned towards him with an odd intensity in his eyes, something Hisoka couldn't interpret. Then he waved his hand as if brushing the apology aside. "Your punctuality has never been of concern to me, Kurosaki-kun." He nodded to the visitor's chair. "Please. Sit down."

Hisoka sat.

Tatsumi drew a slip of paper from the pocket of his brown jacket and held it out to him. "I'm sending you and Tsuzuki-san into the field today."

"What?" Hisoka was on his feet again before he quite realized it. "Tsuzuki's still recovering! You can't just send him back out there."

"I can, and I already have," Tatsumi said firmly. "Watari-san assures me that he's well enough to start work again on Monday, so there's no reason he can't just as easily start today. And this is an assignment that simply cannot wait."

"Why, what is it?" Hisoka demanded. "What could be so urgent that you'd endanger--"

"Kurosaki-_kun!"_ Tatsumi's voice was like a whip-crack.

Hisoka glared at him. He knew his tone was insubordinate, but right now he was beyond caring. Tatsumi had said that he _cared_ about Tsuzuki, that his happiness mattered to him. Yet here he was, sending him out on an assignment where he might have to face just about anything. Images of blood, of tortured bodies and broken lives rose in his mind's eye. And Muraki. Always Muraki. The doctor was out there somewhere, still alive and perhaps killing again, perhaps already starting a new trail of bloody breadcrumbs to pull Tsuzuki into his clutches.

"It's easy for you," he said through gritted teeth. "You don't have to deal with the consequences. You're not the one who has to watch him fall to pieces. You just hang out here in your nice tidy office and sign the paperwork afterwards as if nothing ever happened, and--"

"Hisoka-kun."

Hisoka fell into stunned silence. Tatsumi had never called him by his given name before, and the fact that he didn't immediately follow it with "You're fired," or "Go and clean out your desk," or even "I am adding a letter of reprimand to your file," was even more astonishing. And then, before he had a chance to fully process the weirdness of the situation, Tatsumi did something even more surprising. He smiled.

It was a slow, sad little smile, so full of longing and regret that Hisoka felt his anger draining away in spite of himself. "It's not the kind of assignment you're thinking of," Tatsumi said. He extended the slip of paper again, and Hisoka took it numbly. "Tsuzuki-san will explain when you get there."

There was an address written on the paper in Tatsumi's small, neat handwriting. It was vaguely familiar, but Hisoka couldn't place it. He tucked it in his pocket. "I will do as you ask," he said, a bit stiffly. He bowed and turned towards the door.

"Wait, Kurosaki. There is one other thing." Tatsumi sank down behind his desk and pulled a stack of reports towards himself as if he was erecting a barrier. "I need to discuss something with you concernning the Kyoto case. Please, sit."

Hisoka sat down warily. "What about the Kyoto case?"

"I think you deserve to know," Tatsumi began slowly, his gaze fixed on the paperwork in front of him. "When I summoned the shadow vacuum to pull you and Tsuzuki-san from the flames, I was only trying to save one of you."

"Ah." Hisoka picked at a fraying thread on the cuff of his black sweater. "I understand. You and Tsuzuki have known each other for a long time, and I know that he's... important... to you."

He felt surprise from Tatsumi, followed by a glimmer of wry amusement. "That's all true, Kurosaki-kun, but I think you misunderstand. It was you I was trying to save."

Hisoka dropped the thread. He glanced up, but Tatsumi's gaze was still veiled.

"I couldn't have him lose you," the Secretary went on, quickly now as if he was in a rush to get the words out. "I couldn't let him die thinking that he'd dragged you down with him."

There was a surge of intense feeling behind those words, an emotion that ached and bled like an infected wound. _He needs something from me,_ Hisoka realized. The knowledge was so sharp and clear it actually hurt. "It wasn't like that," he said softly.

Tatsumi glanced up, waiting for him to go on. Hisoka took a deep breath, his hands clammy on the knees of his jeans. Tatsumi needed forgiveness, so that he could forgive himself. So that he could open himself up to Tsuzuki, be there for him in the way that he needed. Hisoka's stomach clenched in rebellion at the thought, but he forced himself to continue. For Tsuzuki's sake. For his happiness.

"In that last moment, he was... at peace," he said. The words sounded weak, pitifully inadequate to describe something so big and powerful that his own body and Tsuzuki's had felt too small to contain it. Even together. "He wasn't afraid any more," he finished, almost in a whisper. Rocks were crushing his chest, he couldn't breathe.

"I've made so many mistakes concerning him," Tatsumi said, almost to himself. "And yet, in some way, it has all worked itself out for the best." Their eyes met for the first time and Hisoka felt a sudden lightness from Tatsumi, as if a burden had been lifted. "Thank you, Kurosaki-kun, for telling me."

Hisoka managed to nod. "Is that everything?" The question sounded abrupt, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to get away from Tatsumi, away from everyone. To bury himself under mountains of paperwork so he wouldn't have to feel this. Except, of course, that he couldn't. He'd have to go and face Tsuzuki now, work on a case with him and pretend that everything was normal.

"There is one other thing," Tatsumi said. He pushed up his glasses up his nose so that his hand hid the lower part of his face. "There will be a general budget meeting at eight-thirty on Monday morning, and I expect both of you to be there on time. Is that clear?"

When Hisoka stepped from Tatsumi's office, he immediately felt the missed beat in everyone's conversation. And then, much worse, the ripples of surprise-curiosity-concern spreading towards him like tentacles. He grabbed his coat and beat a hasty retreat from the building. Ten minutes later he was in Nagasaki, standing on the front steps of a rather fancy Chinese restaurant.

It wasn't just any Chinese restaurant. It was the place he and Tsuzuki had gone to on the day they first met, which explained why the address had sounded so familiar. He took a moment to compose himself, to settle his breathing before going inside. The last thing he wanted was to make Tsuzuki worry.

The host at the front desk greeted him with a smile and, thankfully, no sign of recognition. Hisoka couldn't remember all the details from that night two years ago, but there had definitely been something about a chopstick swordfight. And something else about passing out under the table. If the host remembered any of it, he was too polite to show it. "Your table's right this way," he said, leading the way past well-dressed tourists and business people to a curtained doorway at the back of the restaurant.

"Make yourself at home," the man said, lifting the curtain aside. "Someone will be in momentarily to take your orders "

Hisoka hesitated, wondering if it was a trap. His hand drifted automatically to the pocket of his jeans where he kept a few fuda slips just in case. Not that he was that great at using them, but it made him feel better just knowing they were there. But there was a familiar sense about the room, a warm safe presence that seemed to beckon him. He stepped inside, letting the curtain fall back into place behind him.

He was in a private dining room. It was small and tastefully furnished, with the table screened off from the rest of the room by a tall paper room divider to give an added sense of privacy. A softly gurgling fountain created an atmosphere of peace, and he felt himself starting to relax in spite of himself.

When he peeked around the edge of the screen, Tsuzuki was there at the table. He was engrossed in folding a cloth napkin into what was apparently supposed to be a crane, and an earlier attempt sat by his elbow, its neck flopped over at a tragic angle. He didn't glance up right away, and Hisoka just stood for a moment watching him.

_He's beautiful._

The thought came unbidden, surprising Hisoka. But it was true. Everything about him, from his frown of concentration to the way his hands moved, strong and yet graceful as they folded the napkin, to the glossy mess of chocolate bangs that tumbled down over his forehead, half hiding his eyes... those amazing eyes. So gentle, with all their many shades of expression.

Hisoka's chest tightened, his heart closing around an ache in the shape of Tsuzuki's name. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. Case or no case, Tsuzuki was the last person he wanted to see right now. He took a step backward, then another. He was about to walk away when Tsuzuki glanced up, suddenly, as if he'd heard his name spoken.

"Hisoka!" He launched to his feet. His hip banged against the table and rattled the dishes, but he seemed not to notice. His face lit with a smile that took Hisoka's breath away--literally. Images from his dream came rushing back with mind-numbing clarity, and it felt as if every drop of blood in his entire body had suddenly gone straight to his face.

"Hi," Tsuzuki said, still beaming. "It's so good to see you."

-o-o-o-o-

**AN:** There it is, the third chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. Hats off to Trans for her insightful beta comments, which really pushed me to go deeper on this one and to think harder about the characters. This chapter, in particular, is far better as a result. Thank you so much.


	4. Chapter 4

The Scent of a Man

Chapter 4

For one awful moment, Hisoka was certain that Tsuzuki _knew. _That the details of his dream must be written across his face, plainly visible for all to see. It didn't help that Tsuzuki was blushing too.

"So, ah... what's going on?" he asked, looking around to avoid meeting Tsuzuki's eyes. There was no case file on the table, no bloody crime scene photos, and no sign of ghostly activity. Well, unless two Shinigami counted.

"It's Friday dim sum," Tsuzuki said happily. "All you can eat. And after, I was thinking we could do a little sightseeing."

Hisoka frowned. "Yeah, but what about the case?"

"Case? Oh! Is that what Tatsumi told you?"

Hisoka stared at him dumbly while his brain processed the implications. "You mean... he was lying?"

Tsuzuki laughed nervously. "Well... he probably figured you wouldn't come unless he made it an order."

And of course, Tatsumi had figured correctly. Hisoka had been counting on there being a case to focus on. Preferably something simple like a kappa infestation, or perhaps a minor demon from one of the outermost circles of hell. Something they could banish. He was in a banishing mood.

"I... um." Hisoka glanced over his shoulder, trying to determine the number of steps it would take to get him out the door of the private dining room. "I have to go," he said, and was about to bolt when Tsuzuki materialized behind him, blocking his path.

"Wait!" He caught Hisoka's hands. "I'm sorry Tatsumi lied to you. I'm sorry _we_ lied. It was stupid, we should have told you the truth. Stay, Hisoka. Please."

_We lied... should have told you the truth... we_. The word reverberated in Hisoka's head, and he realized this wasn't just lunch. It was something important. Something Tsuzuki had been planning for. With _Tatsumi. _The knowledge set like a lump of ice in the pit of his stomach.

And yet.

Tsuzuki was holding his hands. His grip was warm and firm, his large hands almost swallowing Hisoka's as he gently tugged him back towards the table. And Hisoka followed in spite of himself. In spite of the fact that the idea of sitting here across from Tsuzuki, sharing delicious food and _talking_ made him feel physically ill.

He felt a wash of happy emotions from Tsuzuki, pleasure and relief sitting frosting-like atop layers of jittery nervous energy. There's something he wants to say, Hisoka realized. Something he wants me to hear. And he wants... acceptance. For me to _accept_ something.

His breath stilled as he guessed what it must be. And it made sense, didn't it? Hisoka could think of no other reason why Tsuzuki and Tatsumi would have come up with such an elaborate setup, complete with Tatsumi sitting him down for a heart to heart, unless Tsuzuki was about to tell him about their relationship.

"Um, sirs?" The female voice surprised him. Glancing up, he realized that a server had quietly entered the room. "Can I take your orders?" she asked. A blush was spreading over the bridge of her nose as she stared at their joined hands.

"Oh, yes please!" Tsuzuki let go of his hands and grabbed the menu. "I think we were both having the dim sum, right 'Soka? Is that okay with you?"

"I guess." Hisoka sat, mostly because his knees were giving way. A voice in the back of his mind chattered nonsensically that he wasn't going to get his money's worth, since all you could eat wasn't going to amount to much in his current state. But still, he couldn't bring himself to puncture the shimmery bubble of excitement he felt surrounding his partner.

The server poured tea for them and left. Hisoka fiddled with his chopsticks, still unable to meet Tsuzuki's eyes. He couldn't get the images from that disgusting dream out of his mind. Or the memory of what had happened after. He still couldn't quite believe that he'd done that, that he'd actually ejaculated all over Tsuzuki's pillow. All over his innocent jam stain. What would Tsuzuki think if he knew?

He'd want a different partner, that's what. Probably Tatsumi. Which made sense, really. It would be convenient when they went on cases together, they'd save the department so much money because they'd only ever need one--

_Bed,_ he finished the thought firmly. One bed.

"Hisoka?"

"What?" His voice cracked on the word. Here it came, and he was just sitting here frozen, waiting for it.

Tsuzuki's dark brows puckered in concern. "Are you all right? You seem... nervous, or something."

"I'm fine!"

"Come on, tell me what's wrong." Tsuzuki's tone was devastatingly gentle. "Did something happen? Did Tatsumi say something that upset you?"

"No. It's fine. _I'm_ fine. Can we just drop it?"

"Okay." A tinge of disappointment was creeping in around the edges of Tsuzuki's mood, much as it had the day before when Hisoka had yelled at him. But there was more than that. There was that other emotion too, the velvet ocean feeling. Because of Tatsumi, Hisoka thought. Because they were talking about him.

"Look," he said, staring at his gold-edged place mat, "I know why you're doing all this."

"You do?" Tsuzuki asked in a small voice.

Hisoka clasped his hands between his knees to keep them from shaking. "There's something you want to tell me. Right?"

Tsuzuki's eyes widened. He gave a faint nod, looking about as terrified as Hisoka felt.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

"I... I _want_ to, 'Soka, I've just been trying to find the right moment. The right way of saying it." He picked up one of the napkin cranes and started unfolding it, his fingers fluttering nervously. "It's hard to explain, but I really want you to know that I--"

"Please. Stop." Hisoka's voice, his whole body was trembling. "I just... I can't hear that right now."

Tsuzuki stared at Hisoka for a long, _long_ moment, then nodded. "Sure, that's fine," he said with a pasted-on grin. "I guess it can wait. It wasn't really that big a deal anyway--oh hey, is that our food?" He cocked his head to the side as if listening for the rattle of approaching plates. "I'm _starving._ Hey do you remember, this is the place where we went the day we first met? We got into a duel with our chopsticks. Maybe we can do that again! For old time's sake, what do you say?"

Hisoka listened to the torrent of words and watched the color slowly drain from Tsuzuki's face. _Damn it,_ he thought. _He deserves better than this, better than me. _Tsuzuki would be better off with another partner, someone who could be happy for him instead of... _this._ This awful feeling.

"Tsuzuki, I, ah...I'm really not that hungry. I should go."

_Oh._ Tsuzuki mouthed silently, then nodded. "Okay." The fake smile was stretched tight, cracking around the edges.

"I just need time," Hisoka said. "We'll talk later, okay?" His eyes were burning. He squeezed them shut, unable to bear the dawning look of misery in Tsuzuki's eyes, and teleported back to Meifu.

He briefly considered going back to the office. There was still plenty of paperwork for him to catch up on, and filling out expense reports would be a welcome distraction. But he knew he couldn't face Tatsumi right now. Not in his current state. And he couldn't face the stares of his co-workers, the concerned looks, the questions. Especially the questions.

He went to the dojo instead. It was deserted, as he'd expected it would be in the middle of a work day, and he spent the afternoon practicing with his bokken, his shouts echoing loud in the silence. Oriya's mocking smile was before him as it now always was, forever just beyond the reach of his sword.

_What are you fighting for, kid?_ the master swordsman seemed to ask. The answer had seemed clear at the time, painfully so. He was fighting for Tsuzuki's life, to get his partner back at any cost. Now he wasn't so sure.

He told himself that he wanted what was best for Tsuzuki. For him to be happy. The trouble was, he really wanted Tsuzuki to be happy with _him,_ and obviously, that wasn't going to happen. It would have been easier if they'd just died together in the fire. There wouldn't be all these awkward truths to confront.

Like, what had it really meant when he asked Tsuzuki to live for him? When he'd said there was no place for him in the whole world except at Tsuzuki's side--no, in his _heart,_ for gods' sake--what exactly had he meant by that? Wasn't it all just a roundabout way of saying "I love you?"

Hisoka froze in mid strike, hardly breathing. Well. It was sort of obvious, wasn't it? Or it would be, if he was less of an idiot. How long had he felt this way, exactly? When Tsuzuki had risked his life for him on their first case together? When Hisoka had impersonated Hijiri so that Tsuzuki wouldn't have to bear the guilt of killing a mortal?

Those could be explained, he supposed, as things that partners did for each other. But then there'd been the time when Tsuzuki had held him after he'd shot Tsubaki-hime, and Hisoka had allowed it. Had trusted him with his tears, his grief, because Tsuzuki was safe and good and smelled like cinnamon. Because his arms felt like a sheltered haven, a place where he could belong. Because...

"I love him."

His voice was barely a whisper, but the words touched off a soundless reverberation in his chest. He wrapped his arms around himself, caging the feeling inside. What was it that Wakaba had said about all this? _There's just a connection._ Between two people, a connection.

He remembered their first case together. How Tsuzuki had taken a blast meant for him, a blast that had ripped away half his back. And how Muraki had ordered him to step aside and leave Tsuzuki, which should have been a relief because the doctor's attention was focused on someone else. But he couldn't let go. Couldn't let Muraki have him. He'd gripped Tsuzuki tighter, hanging on every hitching breath, every beat of his pulse. And then, Tsuzuki had reached back to him. With his mind, his emotions. And for a brief, strange moment, they'd become one.

_A connection._

Yes, he'd felt it from the start, even if it had taken this long to figure out what it meant. But Wakaba's explanation didn't begin to cover this situation. What were you supposed to do when the person you felt a connection with was connected to someone else?

"But that wouldn't happen," she said to him on the phone, fifteen minutes later. "Not if the connection was real in the first place."

Hisoka paused in the midst of towelling his hair. "So you're saying if the other person doesn't feel the same connection, then it isn't real?" He was on the back step of the dojo, having showered and changed back into his street clothes before calling her.

"No," Wakaba explained distractedly. "What I mean is, if you have a real connection with this person--"

"I didn't say _me,"_ he cut in hastily.

"Oh. Right, sorry. I meant if your hypothetical friend and this other person have a real connection, the other person couldn't have the same thing with someone else because then it wouldn't be a connection. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of." Hisoka dug his toes into the cool grass, scowling. "No. I mean, don't people have situations like that all the time? Where one person... cares... for someone who doesn't feel the same way?"

"Oh, you can have unrequited feelings, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about a _connection_ between two people. A connection is something that goes both ways, by definition. Does that help?"

"Um..." Hisoka thought about it. "No. Not really."

Wakaba laughed. "Sorry, I guess I'm not being very clear, I--" She broke off, and Hisoka heard the sound of car horns in the background. "Listen," she said, "I'm in Sapporo doing a little Christmas shopping. Why don't you come down and join me? It just so happens I could use your advice on something."

She gave him directions, and a few minutes later he was shivering in front of the Tanuki Koji Shopping Arcade. The sidewalk was packed with people hurrying back and forth on various missions, and he felt their stress and excitement buzzing around him like a cloud of mosquitoes. Wakaba was nowhere in sight.

His hand shook with cold as punched her number into his cell phone. "Wakaba?"

"Behind you," she said, her voice oddly doubled.

He turned and saw her pushing her way towards him through the crowd. "Come on," she said, catching hold of his arm. "We'd better hurry before the gate closes."

"Gate? What gate?"

"You'll see."

She was pulling him towards the mall entrance. He stumbled after her, grateful at the thought of getting out of the bitter wind, but also reluctant to join the tide of humanity streaming in through the front doors.

"Who knew it would be so crowded?" Wakaba called over her shoulder as they dodged a man who was stumbling towards the nearby train station, his arms loaded with brightly ribboned parcels. "I guess I'm not the only one who left their Christmas shopping to the last minute."

She veered away from the doors at the last moment and led him to a secondary entrance. It appeared to be a utility door of some kind, and was accordingly hidden behind a planter full of evergreen shrubs. As they drew near, Hisoka realized that it was actually an elevator.

Wakaba smacked the button to summon the car. When she drew her hand away again, Hisoka saw a fuda cupped in her palm. "We're going to a slightly different shopping destination than everyone else," she said, winking. The elevator pinged and the door slid open, revealing... nothing. No elevator, no empty shaft, just a wall of gray mist so dense that stepping into it felt like walking into a barrier made from cotton candy. It stuck to their clothes, swirling behind them in long streamers as they broke through into an open-air market.

"Welcome to the Night Market," Wakaba said.

It was indeed night. The vaulted roof was made of glass, and the sky beyond was pitch black and crowded with stars. Hisoka saw the misty pinwheels of galaxies, and nebulae like the rainbow-colored splotches of oil spreading over puddles in a parking lot. The street was narrow and lined with quaint little shops that seemed to sell every type of good imaginable. Brightly colored food carts crowded into every remaining available space, and the air was pungent the scents of exotic spices.

"Where are we?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"It's a place between worlds," Wakaba said. "And it's outside of time, or at least time as we understand it. Many of history's greatest artisans still practice their crafts here. And because it's a neutral territory between realms, just about anyone can come here to shop."

"I can see that," Hisoka murmured, staring across the crowd. Some of the market's patrons seemed entirely human, though he doubted many of them actually were. Others were exotic. There were beings who looked as if they'd stepped directly from a mythology text, resembling the elves, dwarves and satyrs of legend, and others who defied classification.

There was horse-headed man who looked like nothing so much as a living, breathing chess piece, and a fox walking on his hind legs carrying a lantern containing a pulsating blue light. As Hisoka watched the light, he noticed that its pulsations seemed to happen in response to whatever the fox was saying, as if the two were having a conversation.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Wakaba said, noticing the direction of his gaze. "That's the most amazing thing about this place, if you ask me. There are a million different languages here, but somehow everyone understands each other. I don't know how it works, but it makes shopping a lot easier. Come on," said, ruffling his damp hair. "Your bangs are turning into icicles! Let's get you warmed up."

He followed her through the crowd to a vendor's stall, where a tiny, penguin-like man sold them two paper cups filled with hot ginger amasake. "My treat," Wakaba said, handing one of the cups to Hisoka. "This'll warm you right through."

It did. The brew was spicy-sweet yet soothing, and it kindled a warm glow through his belly. "Thanks," he said as they started walking again.

"My pleasure. I always buy some when I come here. And besides, I must admit that I have an ulterior motive. Remember how I said that I need your advice?"

"Yes?" Hisoka said, momentarily distracted by the window display in a milliner's shop where half a dozen brightly colored hats were flitting back and forth like birds. They had entered an area of the market that seemed to be devoted to fashion. Besides the milliner's shop, there were various boutiques selling dresses, suits and lingerie, and other, stranger things that were clearly not meant for human clientele.

Wakaba paused at the window of a bridal shop, where a group of smiling wraiths were modeling fanciful lace wedding gowns. "I'm buying Hajime a new bow as a Christmas present," she said, her a bit wistful. "I was hoping you could take a look and tell me if you think he'll like it."

"I'll do my best," Hisoka promised.

They strolled past a men's fashion store where dapper spirit-models were showing off trendy suits and blazers. "Oh hey," Wakaba said, pointing. "Those would look amazing on you."

Hisoka frowned. "You think?"

"Of course!" Wakaba laughed. "Have you decided what you're wearing to the party tonight?"

"That's _tonight?"_

"Yeah, silly. Don't tell me you forgot."

"I wasn't planning on going," he admitted.

"I think you might want to reconsider, for safety's sake if nothing else. Yuma and Saya are planning the whole thing with you in mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you." Wakaba's attention was focused on the window of a store that sold purses. "I _will_ say that they're going to be upset if you don't at least make an appearance. And I'm sure you know what that means."

"Yeah," Hisoka sighed. He knew perfectly well what it meant. Ribbons and lace, and gods knew what else. But he had to risk it, because the alternative was going to the party and watching Tsuzuki and Tatsumi dance together, and... he didn't think he could handle that. Not just yet.

"Well, think it over," Wakaba said. "I'm going to pop in here for a sec, because speaking of Yuma and Saya, I think I just saw the perfect gift for them." She disappeared into the purse store, leaving him standing alone with his thoughts.

"Young man," a voice called, and Hisoka felt the subtle pressure of someone trying to get his attention. He glanced over to see a bespectacled, white-bearded gentleman waving to him from one of the nearby stalls. "Pardon me," the man said as Hisoka stepped closer, "but I couldn't help noticing that your wrists are bare."

Hisoka instinctively glanced down. His mind flashed on an image of Tsuzuki in the fire, scars exposed, but he pushed it aside with a shudder.

"You'll have to excuse me," the man said. "My name is Louis Francois. I'm a watchmaker by trade, so the sight of a bare wrist tends to jump out at me. I don't suppose I could interest you in one of my unique timepieces?" He gestured to the display case that lined the front of the stall. It was full of gleaming watches.

Hisoka shook his head. "I use my phone for that."

The man's eyebrows shot up. "A _tele_phone?" he asked, peering at Hisoka over the tops of his spectacles. Which weren't really spectacles at all, Hisoka realized, but jeweler's glasses. "Do you happen to have it with you now?"

Hisoka shrugged and drew his cell phone from his coat pocket.

"Ah, this is fascinating!" the man cried, leaning across the counter to examine the digital display. "To think that in the future, people will go back to carrying pocket clocks. Amazing. And you say that it's also a telephone?"

Hisoka nodded.

"A telephone that fits in your pocket," the man said, shaking his head. "I find that incredible. However," he pushed back his glasses, "a quality wrist watch is more than just an instrument for telling time. Ideally, it should be a reflection of the wearer's personality. Do you agree?"

"I never really thought about it."

"Bah! Such nonsense," the man said. "With an attitude like that, it's no wonder I see so many young people pass by wearing cheap watches, or none at all. Ah, well. I suppose that's what they call progress." He settled the jeweler's glasses back on his nose and turned his attention to the watch that he'd evidently been working on before he'd waved Hisoka over.

In the silence that followed, Hisoka let his gaze travel over the rows of watches inside the display. The mention of cheap watches had reminded him of Tsuzuki again, and he had to admit that any one of these watches would suit him better than that ugly vinyl thing he'd been wearing. But the one that his gaze kept returning to, again and again, was the one in the watchmaker's hands. It was plain compared with most of the others, unadorned with jewels or elaborate inlaid designs, but its clean lines had a certain masculinity, a graceful elegance that reminded him of Tsuzuki.

"That one you're working on," Hisoka said, trying not to sound too interested. "How much is it?"

"Ah," the watchmaker smiled. "You have excellent taste, young man. This is one of my latest designs, forged in solid titanium." He closed up the back of the watch, polished it with a soft cloth and dropped it into Hisoka's outstretched palm. "Pardon my saying so, but I think it's a little too large for your wrist. If I could suggest--"

"It's not for me," Hisoka interrupted. "How much?" The watch felt cool in his hand, solid yet surprisingly light. The man quoted a price for him, and he nearly dropped it. "I can't afford that," he said, trying to hand it back.

The watchmaker folded his arms across his chest. "Of course you can't," he said, and lifted a challenging eyebrow. "I believe his is where you're supposed to make me an offer."

"Wow," Wakaba breathed several minutes later. She was gazing over Hisoka's shoulder at the watch, which now lay nestled in a polished mahogany case lined with dark blue velvet. "That's absolutely gorgeous."

Hisoka had to admit that it was. Even after haggling, he'd ended up paying more than he would ever normally think reasonable for a watch, but the thought of Tsuzuki wearing it made it all seem worthwhile. And Tsuzuki never had to know how much he'd spent.

"Did you get what you needed?" he asked, closing the wooden case.

"And then some," Wakaba said with a laugh. Her arms were loaded down with brightly colored bags and packages.

"Here, let me take some of those," Hisoka offered.

"Thanks," she said, but made no move to hand any of them over. Instead she just stood looking at him, her eyes shining.

"What?" he asked finally, exasperated.

"You know who that guy is, don't you?" She nodded towards the watchmaker, who was by now talking to his next customer.

"Louis-something," Hisoka said with a shrug. He pried several of the packages away from her, balancing them carefully so as not to spill his amasake on her shopping.

"Louis Francois?" she asked.

"That sounds right."

Wakaba chuckled. "Louis Francois _Cartier,_ Hisoka." At his baffled look, she sighed. "Typical man, completely ignorant where it comes to fashion."

She turned down a cobblestone walkway, and he followed. There were fewer shoppers here and the babble of voices faded, leaving them alone with the sound of their footsteps. They'd only been walking for a few minutes when Wakaba came to a sudden stop in front of a flower stand.

"Oh, drat," she said, reaching in her coat pocket with her free hand. She fumbled for a minute and pulled out a map. "I did this last time too. I keep thinking the bow-maker's shop is down this alley, but it isn't." She paused. "Hisoka?"

"Hnn?" He was staring at the flower stand. It was a tiny place, but it dominated the street with the wild profusion of color spilling from its doors. And in the midst of all that was a splash of purple so intense that he couldn't look away. The plant in question was an iris, each of its blooms the size of his two fists put together. They were so intensely purple that the air around them seemed to glow with a violet radiance. He ran a finger along the edge of a petal and found it cool to his touch, its texture like velvet.

"Those really are the exact color of his eyes," Wakaba said softly.

Hisoka jerked his hand back as if the flower had bitten him. "Uh... oh, sorry. You were saying we need to go back?" He turned and started briskly back the way they'd come.

"Hisoka?" Wakaba caught his arm. "It _is_ him," isn't it? The person you were talking about on the phone."

He whirled, meaning to tell her to mind her own damn business, but stopped short. Her gaze held no trace of judgement, and her emotions radiated only sympathy and kindness. His angry words evaporated. He turned away, unable to endure that look for very long. "Yes," he confessed in a whisper, his eyes stinging. "H... how did you...?"

"Oh, Hisoka." Her tone was affectionate. "The rest of us do have eyes, you know."

_Oh._ Was it really that obvious? Wakaba's smile suggested that it was.

"Besides," she added gently, "that's an awfully nice watch to buy for someone who's just a friend. It _is_ a Cartier, after all."

_Shit._ Well, he had his own ignorance to thank for that. He'd just have to give it to Tsuzuki in such a way that he wouldn't know who it was from. The thought of his partner made his chest ache. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "You won't, um, _tell_ anyone, will you?"

"Never," she said, and he could tell at once that she meant it. She looped an arm through his as they started walking again. "The only thing I don't understand is why in the world you'd think he's in love with someone else. Other than you, I mean," she added when he just stared at her. "Tell me about this other person," she suggested. "Is it somebody I know? Someone from work, maybe?"

"Tatsumi-san," Hisoka said in a low voice. He thought it should have been a relief to admit this to someone, but somehow it just made it seem more real. More irreversible.

"Tsuzuki and _Tatsumi?"_ Wakaba searched his face as if she was trying to decide if he was being serious. "What makes you think so?"

Hisoka told her about the conversation he'd overheard in the office, the feelings he'd sensed from Tatsumi, and later, the answering emotion he'd felt from Tsuzuki at the restaurant.

"So you're pretty sure Tatsumi's the one he was thinking about at that moment?" she asked when he was finished.

"He was about to tell me about their relationship," Hisoka said. He took a sip of his drink, barely tasting it. His throat felt like it had been scoured with acid.

"He was about to?" Wakaba's forehead puckered. "Maybe this is a silly question, but how can you know that?"

"I just..." Hisoka frowned. "I just _do,_ okay? I know what I felt."

"All right, if you say so. I guess you know him better than anyone, but--" she broke off.

"But what?" Hisoka demanded. He could hear the harshness in his tone, but couldn't stop himself.

"Well if it was me, I'd want to be sure."

"I am! I'm sure, okay? I've never been more sure about anything, I just--" Hisoka took a breath. "I couldn't hear it from him," he finished in a whisper. "I couldn't hear his voice actually say the words. It's stupid. I should want him to be happy, I _do_ want that, I just..." He trailed off, staring at the cobblestones.

"Just not with Tatsumi," Wakaba said gently.

Hisoka nodded. "I know it's selfish. I want to stop feeling this way but I can't, and it just keeps getting worse and worse."

Wakaba gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "It's not selfish. Just human."

Hisoka's throat closed up. "I shouldn't have yelled," he said, not trusting his voice. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Love makes everyone a bit crazy. Even when the other person feels the same way, it doesn't always make things easier."

"You and Terazuma?" Hisoka asked. He guessed it was none of his business, but then again it seemed only fair. Apparently she knew most of his secrets, after all.

"Hajime and me, yes. There's a reason I'm known as the office matchmaker, you know." She gave a bitter smile. "Maybe I can't have my own heart's desire, but I do my best to help others find theirs. Speaking of which," she stopped walking, "here we are."

They'd reached a flight of stone steps flanked by bronze samurai warriors, which led down through a series of stone archways to a small courtyard with a cherry tree blooming in the middle. The courtyard was lined with shops, all of which seemed related to the martial arts in some way.

"This is where the bow shop is," Wakaba said, leading the way downward. Hisoka started to follow, but a sudden, bleak sense of desolation fell over him like a net. There was pain here. An awful, grinding sadness that felt strangely familiar, like an echo of his own misery reflected back to him.

"Wakaba." He reached for her arm. "I don't think we should--"

Wakaba froze, her foot poised above the last step. "Get back," she hissed, pushing him back into the shadows.

"What?" he whispered. But then he saw.

At the far end of the courtyard was a shop that apparently belonged to a sword smith, its front window filled with racks of gleaming katanas. And outside the shop was Tsuzuki. He was standing with his head bowed, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. Hisoka caught his breath. "Tsuzuki?" Suddenly it made sense. He knew where the sadness was coming from, and why it seemed so familiar. "What's he doing here?"

Wakaba shook her head. She was pointing to a second flight of steps at the other side of the courtyard, where a familiar figure had appeared. Tatsumi. The Underworld Secretary paused when he came to the foot of the steps and glanced around as if he was there to meet someone. Then he caught sight of Tsuzuki and crossed to where he was standing.

The two men stood for a moment, conversing in low voices. Then, with an abrupt surge of frustration, Tsuzuki whirled and stalked. He flopped down on a park bench beneath the great cherry tree and Tatsumi followed, sinking down beside him. They were so close on the bench that their shoulders almost touched, Tsuzuki's dark hair falling around his face like a ragged halo. The piercing ache that radiated from him was enough to rattle Hisoka's bones. Tatsumi seemed to sense it too, even without the benefit of empathy. He reached over and covered Tsuzuki's hand with his own, fingers loosely gripping.

Wakaba let out a soft gasp. She glanced up at Hisoka, and he could tell by her expression that she was as stunned as he was. He took an automatic step back as she reached for him. "Hisoka, I--I'm sure it's not what you're thinking," she stammered. "If you'd just--"

"What?" he snapped. "Do you still think it's all in my head?"

"I never said that!" She hurried up the steps after him. "Hisoka, I don't claim to know what's going on here, but I am sure that you're not getting the whole picture. If you'd just--"

He shook his head, silencing her. "I've seen enough," he said heavily. He handed her shopping bags and walked away.

* * * *

AN: I really wanted to get this chapter out before Christmas, but with one thing and another, including some serious computer issues, it didn't happen. Hope you enjoyed it anyway, even though the Xmassy theme is no longer seasonal. Thanks again as always to everyone who read and reviewed the previous chapters, and especially to Trans for her excellent betaing!


	5. Chapter 5

"Sorry kid," growled the wolf-headed man behind the ticket counter. "The Sapporo gate's closed right now. If you want to get to Earth, the only gates we have right now are..." he opened a large, ledger-like book and consulted a series of tables, "New York, Paris and Delhi."

"I will take the Delhi gate, if you please," a velvety voice purred. Hisoka glanced over his shoulder and was startled to discover that a multi-armed woman had ridden up behind him on the back of a magnificent tiger.

"Of course, Durga-sama," the ticket man said, bowing. "I'll get your ticket right away." He turned to the polished wooden cabinet behind him. It had hundreds of drawers, and looked very much like the cabinets that temples used to dispense omikuji. (1) Instead of a fortune slip, though, the man pulled out a gold-edged fuda covered with intricate calligraphy, some of it in a language Hisoka didn't recognize. "Please, come again," he said, bowing as he held it up to the tiger woman with both hands.

"Thank you so very much." The tiger woman speared the fuda with the tip of her sword, which was just one of the small armory of weapons she carried in her many hands. A misty barrier appeared before her as she rode away, and Hisoka felt a quick blast of heat against his face as the tiger bounded through the veil. There was a swirl of distant music and a whiff of Indian curry spices, and then the woman and tiger were gone. The barrier melted away behind them.

"She's one of our best customers," the wolf-man said with a wistful sigh, gazing after her. "She buys all her weapons here, and tiger chow too. Interesting lady."

"So there are no gates in Japan?" Hisoka asked, hoping to bring the man's attention back to the subject at hand.

"None at the moment," the wolf-man answered with a shrug, still staring at the spot where Durga had vanished.

"Okay, how long until there is one?" Hisoka persisted. He wasn't sure how any of this worked. Even just finding his way back to this part of the Night Market had been difficult because none of the streets seemed to be where he remembered.

"What an excellent question," the wolf-man said, consulting his ledger again. "It looks like the next alignment won't happen until tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow afternoon? I can't wait until then!"

"Then you might want to consider going to a different gate."

"I can't do that," Hisoka protested. Showing up unannounced in a foreign city seemed like a very bad idea. The local Shinigami--or Reapers, Death Angels, or whatever they happened to call themselves--would certainly not be pleased to see him in their territory, especially without the proper paperwork.

"Well then, I guess I can't help you." The wolf-man opened a drawer and pulled out a fat book of sudoku puzzles. A buzzer sounded just then, and an indicator panel behind his shoulder lit with multicolored lights.

"Well, will you look at that?" he exclaimed, setting down his pencil. "We've had a break in the continuum, and... yep, we've got a bunch of new gates. Let's see." He ran his clawed finger along a column in the ledger, and Hisoka saw that the numbers were shifting and changing like the pictures in a slot machine. "There's Toronto, Everett, Auckland, Seoul and... ah!"

"Sapporo?" Hisoka asked hopefully.

"Nope. Sapporo's now closed until further notice."

"What? But you said--"

"Look, if you're dead set on going to Sapporo, you're out of luck. But if you'd settle for Tokyo--"

"Tokyo? Why didn't you say so?"

The wolf-man just smiled, black lips curling back to reveal ivory fangs. He pulled a fuda from one of the drawers and handed it to Hisoka. "Travel safe, kid. Come back soon."

When he came through the barrier, Hisoka found himself inside a coin-operated photo booth. As he nudged the door open, his first thought was that the spell hadn't worked because he was still in a narrow street lined with stalls. It took him a moment to notice that the shoppers were all human, and that the goods on display were decidedly more mundane than those being sold at the Night Market.

He stepped into the crowd and was nearly run over by a man pushing a fish cart. The man's curse was drowned out by the rumble of a train passing by on the tracks overhead. Hisoka hurried away with a muttered apology, heading for the exit. He knew this place. It was near Ueno Station, and was known as Candy Store Alley.

Tsuzuki had insisted on dragging him here last summer on one of their days off, only to spend most of their time there lamenting over how much the place had changed. Apparently there had been a time when it actually lived up to its name, but those days were long gone. It had taken a trip to Sweets Forest (2) to console him.

An ache rose in Hisoka's chest at the memory of Tsuzuki scampering between the various shops and bakeries, excitedly loading his plate with cakes, candies and sweet crepes. He'd feigned irritation at his partner's foolishness, but in retrospect it had actually been a fun day. He wondered if Tatsumi would ever take Tsuzuki to Sweets Forest, or if he'd insist on something more cultural, like the opera or a Noh performance.

Images of what he'd seen in the courtyard came flooding back. Tsuzuki and Tatsumi sitting on the bench together, so close that their thighs almost touched. And the way that Tatsumi had settled his hand over Tsuzuki's... so easily, as if it just belonged there. Hisoka couldn't imagine just reaching out and touching someone like that. It was partly the fear of being swamped by the other person's emotions, but Tsuzuki was good at shielding and anyway, his emotions just felt like home. Even his darker ones.

More paralyzing was the thought that Tsuzuki might be embarrassed by the gesture. That he might tense up, then extract his hand with an apologetic smile, as if it was somehow _his_ fault that he'd been partnered with a sex freak. Hisoka didn't think he could deal with that. Tsuzuki had so much shame already, he couldn't stand the thought of adding to it.

He picked up some groceries on the way home and forced himself to eat in spite of his lack of appetite. Once he'd washed up and put away the dishes, he took a shower and changed into his tuxedo. And then, when he'd run out of excuses not to, he finally went to check his laundry.

The pillow was dry. It smelled like bleach and detergent, nothing else. No hint of chocolate or cinnamon, and even the jam stain had faded to little more than a pinkish smudge. He stuffed it in a green plastic garbage bag and headed for the Ministry building, taking the long route around the edge of the lake to avoid running into anyone.

When the Ministry building came in view, he saw that he needn't have worried. The windows were all dark, even the window of Tatsumi's office. He cut around the side of the building and entered through a service door. The halls were silent and smelled of floor polish, which told him that the weekend custodial staff had already made their rounds. He had the place to himself, and all he had to do was sneak into the infirmary and put the pillow back where it belonged. No one would be any the wiser.

He was just coming around a corner when the sound of footsteps caught him short. They were approaching from the direction of the main office area, effectively blocking his path to the infirmary. He shrank back, flattening himself against the wall so he wouldn't be seen. Watari's voice rang out, sharp with irritation.

"Honestly, I don't see why this is such a big emergency. You could have asked for the damn file any time this week, but no. It's gotta wait 'til the night of the party."

"Stop fretting," Tatsumi's voice replied. "You can always spike the punch later."

"You think I was going to spike the _punch?_ Don't be ridiculous!"

Hisoka leaned sideways and took a peek around the corner. Tatsumi and Watari were heading for the door of Watari's office, and there was nothing he could do but wait until they'd gone inside.

"Ridiculous, am I?" Tatsumi sounded amused. "I suppose the vial you were holding was a mere figment of my imagination."

"What imagination? And obviously, there was absolutely no need to spike the punch. Not when there's that perfectly lovely raspberry trifle, which happens to be precisely the right shade of pink to disguise my new aphrodisiac potion, just sitting there."

"You were hoping to turn the office Christmas party into an orgy?"

"Well I guess you'll never know _now,_ will you?" Their footsteps had halted, and Hisoka guessed that they'd reached the door of the lab. "Honestly, if you could stop being a workaholic for one single, solitary evening, it'd do you so much goo--"

"Yutaka."

It was the second time in one day that Hisoka had heard Tatsumi call someone by their given name. This time, the timb re of his voice was rougher and deeper, almost sensual. No, scratch that, it _was_ sensual.

There was a flicker of surprise from Watari, a perfect match for Hisoka's own. Then a moment of blankness, in which Watari seemed to be trying to decide if he'd heard right. And then, finally, a pulse of resignation. "Fine, fine," Watari muttered, his voice partially muffled by the rattle of keys. "Spend the night filling out expense reports for all I--"

There was a squeak of shoes against polished linoleum, then a thump. Hisoka frowned. What the hell was going on?

"Never mind the damn paperwork," Tatsumi said, and there was no mistaking his tone now. It was low and dangerous, a satin growl.

"S...Seiichirou?"

The only reply was a soft grunt.

Their verbal conversation ended after that, dissolving into waves of sheer emotion that felt both like, and unlike, the velvet ocean feeling. It was the same emotion but in a different guise, Hisoka realized. Like a different flavor. Which made no sense, because Tatsumi didn't feel that way about Watari, he felt that way about Tsuzuki. Didn't he?

He peeked around the corner again, and nearly fell over.

Tatsumi had pushed Watari up against the lab door, and he was... _kissing_ him. No, they were kissing _each other,_ in a hungry breathless way that forcefully reminded him of how he'd kissed Tsuzuki in the dream. Watari had one hand twined into Tatsumi's hair while he gripped his arm with the other, as if he needed the taller man for support. And Tatsumi was cupping Watari's face, thumbs gliding across his cheeks in reverent caresses.

As Hisoka watched, it seemed as if the two men's outlines were flowing together, as if the kiss was merging them into one. Distantly, he felt himself shaking. His palms were slick, his fingers numb, and his reflexes seemed oddly delayed as the plastic bag slid from his hand. The "slap" it made when it hit the floor sounded like a gunshot in the charged silence.

Tatsumi and Watari jolted away from each other. "Who's there?" Tatsumi demanded, his shadows swirling ominously around his feet as he took a step towards Hisoka's hiding spot.

Hisoka thought about running. Or teleporting. Or collapsing in a dead faint. Unfortunately, his brain seemed to have lost communication with the rest of his body and it was all he could do to just stand there, his arm braced against the wall, as Tatsumi and Watari came around the corner.

"Kurosaki-kun?" The Underworld Secretary adjusted his glasses as if he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. "What are you doing here?"

"I... uh... ah..." Hisoka gulped. There were probably dozens of things he could say right now, a million excuses that would explain his presence here. He just couldn't think of any right now.

"Are you all right, Bon?" Watari asked, sounding concerned.

No he wasn't, not particularly.

Watari put a hand to his forehead. "You're all clammy. Are you having another allergy attack?"

_That's it,_ he told himself, _just nod._ It would be so easy to lie at this point. Watari would give him another of those pills and he could get the hell out of here. But his voice, when he found it, seemed to have other ideas. "You and... and _him?"_ he squeaked, pointing a trembling finger at Tatsumi.

"Well, ah..." Watari glanced at Tatsumi uncertainly. "I think we'd probably need to talk about that," he qualified. "It's too early in the experiment to start making conclusio--"

Tatsumi put a hand over his mouth. "Watari-san," he murmured, "kindly shut up." He turned to Hisoka. "In answer to your question, yes."

Watari's eyes went wide. He scrabbled at Tatsumi's hand, trying to pry it loose from his face, but Tatsumi stilled him with a warning look. "Yes," he repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Their eyes locked. Watari was blinking rapidly, as if he was fighting back tears. Tatsumi's expression softened. He relaxed his hand, letting their fingers twine together, and Hisoka had a sudden recollection of what Wakaba had said to him about the signs that two people were dating. She'd mentioned kissing, holding hands and gazing deeply into each other's eyes. In the space of a minute, Tatsumi and Watari had done all three.

"What about Tsuzuki?" he blurted.

Tatsumi and Watari turned to him with near-identical expressions of bewilderment. "I beg your pardon?" Tatsumi asked.

"You heard me," Hisoka hissed through clenched teeth. "You said you _cared_ about him."

"Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi said, his brows puckering, "I don't understand--"

"You said you want him to be happy!"

"Yes, but what does this have to do with--"

"You're kissing someone else! How can you say that you want him to be happy and then do this to him?"

There was a moment of shocked silence. "Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi said at last, "I think you must have misunderstood--"

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? If you really care about Tsuzuki, you've got a strange way of--"

"Kurosaki!" Tatsumi took a step closer, towering over him. Even with his hair messed up, he still managed to look intimidating. "Perhaps you could explain to me what I said, or did, that gave you the impression that anything of a romantic nature might be going on between Tsuzuki-san and myself." His voice was deadly quiet.

"You said--" Hisoka broke off. What _had_ Tatsumi said, exactly? He flipped through his mental slideshow of Tatsumi kissing Tsuzuki, holding hands with him, taking him on dates. It had all seemed so real until just a moment ago, but now... "I saw you in the Night Market," he said weakly. "You were holding his hand."

"I see." Tatsumi pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to stave off a headache. "Kurosaki-kun, would you be prepared to entertain the idea that what you saw might mean something other than what you think it does?

"But you said--"

"That I care about him, yes. I would say the same about all my employees. Is there anything else?"

"You said you want him to be happy," Hisoka whispered.

"I do. Which is why I chose to end our partnership all those years ago. I was the wrong person for him, I couldn't give him what he needed, either as a partner or," he paused for emphasis, "as a lover."

Lover? Hisoka glanced up sharply. "You said that nothing romantic is going on."

"Nothing is, now. Not since before your parents were born. Kurosaki, please." Tatsumi dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "Just talk to him."

_Talk to him._ The words echoed in Hisoka's mind as he walked dazedly towards the infirmary. He'd excused himself with the stated intention of heading for the party, but he needed to drop off the pillow first. Oddly, neither Tatsumi nor Watari had questioned him about the bag, but he guessed they were too distracted.

He wondered why he'd never realized that Tsuzuki and Tatsumi had been involved at one time. Neither of them had ever said so, but it was there in their silences, the things they _didn't_ say. He thought he should feel relieved knowing that it was all in the past, and that Tatsumi had in fact moved on and found someone else. But where did that leave Tsuzuki?

After all these years, all these decades, he was more alone than ever. Hisoka wished he could have been there for him. Maybe Tsuzuki didn't feel the way he did, but he could have brought him fresh cinnamon buns, fixed the mistakes on his paperwork, given him a shoulder to cry on. It would have been enough knowing that Tsuzuki had someone, that he wasn't completely alone. But he could do those things now, starting today. Just as soon as he got rid of this damn pillow.

The infirmary was as silent as a grave. He lingered for a moment, gazing at the two beds by the window. They were empty now, stripped bare in the moonlight. He took a deep breath and moved on. The supply room where the linens and medical supplies were kept was down a short hallway. As he drew closer, he got a sudden, distinct impression of a second presence nearby. A presence that desperately wanted not to be noticed. And the door of the supply room was open a crack.

"Who's there?" he demanded, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

There was no answer.

He reached in his pocket for a fuda and kicked the door the rest of the way open, holding the pillow in front of himself like a shield. The room seemed empty at first glance, but then he noticed that the rather large, messy pile of sheets in the corner was... breathing.

It was the tiniest movement, barely visible in the semi-darkness. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if it wasn't for the tide of emotions rising from it like steam from a kettle about to boil. Those were anything but subtle. He sensed quaking fear, mixed with a strong dose of please-don't-notice-me, and all of it tinged with a familiar violet hue that he'd recognize anywhere.

He dropped the pillow behind a stack of boxes where it wouldn't be noticeable, and knelt beside the quivering pile. "Tsuzuki," he said. It was a statement rather than a question.

The sheets parted and a single eye peeked out at him, wide with fear.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

Tsuzuki could have asked him the same thing, but he didn't seem to think of it. "I can't tell you," he whispered. "Please..."

_Please don't ask._ It was as clear as words.

Hisoka nodded. He sat down, leaning his back against the cold metal shelving. "I'm sorry about this morning," he said, thinking that now was as good a time as any to talk to his partner. Tsuzuki wasn't going anywhere, and what the supply room lacked in comfort it made up for in privacy. "I shouldn't have taken off on you like that. I was just... I was confused about some things. But it's okay now."

"It is?" There was a quaver in Tsuzuki's voice.

"Yes," Hisoka answered softly. "And I think I know what you were going to tell me."

The fear was back again. The pile of sheets stirred and Tsuzuki's dark head poked out, hair sticking in all directions. "You do?"

Hisoka's heart clenched because even like this, Tsuzuki was so beautiful. And he looked so vulnerable. The boy from his dreams was right there, just behind his eyes, and it took everything he had not to reach out and hold him. Was it going to be like this, from now on?

"Yeah," he said. "I just... I just couldn't hear it, because--" he stopped himself. Was he really going to say it? He decided that yes, he had to. Tsuzuki deserved his complete honesty. He should be able to choose for himself if he wanted to work with a partner who felt this way about him. "I want you to know that it's not your fault," he began, "it's not because of anything you did."

_Except for saving me_, he added mentally. _And holding me, and caring when no one else ever did and making me feel human, like I actually mattered. _

"I'm just--"

"It's okay, I know," Tsuzuki cut in. "I'm sorry 'Soka, I tried to keep it a secret but when you came into the fire and we..." His fingers rose in a helpless gesture, the words seeming to escape him. "I never would have believed anyone would do that for me. I never thought I was worth it, I--"

Hisoka trapped one of those hands in his own, gripping tight. "You're worth it," he said fiercely. "You're worth so much, to me."

Tsuzuki fell silent. And then began to tremble. He shifted closer, bringing the pile of sheets with him, and bent his forehead to Hisoka's. His skin felt hot and clammy and he smelled like sweat and fear touched with that edge of sweetness that was always there, that _Tsuzukiness_ that made Hisoka's mouth go dry and his heart pound. He closed his eyes, breathing it in for the last time. Because surely Tsuzuki wouldn't want to touch him again, once he knew. He opened his mouth, willing himself to speak the words that would change everything, but nothing came.

"After Kyoto, I thought... hoped... maybe you felt the same way," Tsuzuki said, his voice low and shaky. The fingers of his free hand toyed with the lapel of Hisoka's tuxedo jacket, smoothing the dark material as if he were petting a cat. "I want you to know that I'd never... hurt you, 'Soka. I'd rather die."

Hisoka quit breathing. Had Tsuzuki _actually_ just said...?

"I understand if you don't want to work with me," Tsuzuki went on miserably. "Just please, don't hate me. I couldn't cope with--"

Hisoka put a hand to his lips. "I could never hate you," he said, his voice seeming to come from somewhere outside of himself.

Tsuzuki drew back, blinking slowly, hope and fear crashing together until it was impossible to tell which was which. Hisoka licked his lips. His mouth tasted like dust, and he had no idea how to explain what he was feeling. It was so much, so big, he didn't know how he could possibly fit it into the few words available. Finally he just grabbed the plastic bag and shoved it into Tsuzuki's hands. "Here."

Tsuzuki stared at it. Then at him.

"Inside," Hisoka said, his voice cracking.

"'Soka, I don't underst... oh." He'd opened the bag far enough to reveal the jam stain. "It's Hello Kitty," he said, tracing its irregular shape with trembling fingers. "You mean... you actually kept this?"

"I, um... yeah." Hisoka's face was burning up. "I know it was stupid. I just... I couldn't _sleep,_ so I kind of, decided to check in on you. But then you came back and I had to hide and--"

Tsuzuki's arms were suddenly around him. "I saw you on my bed," he breathed. "I didn't want to embarrass you."

_Oh._ Well, that wasn't embarrassing at all. Hisoka burrowed his face into Tsuzuki's shirt, and felt a big, gentle hand card through his hair.

"I told you she was good luck, didn't I?"

Hisoka frowned. "Who?"

"Well, Hello Kitty of course."

"Idiot."

A chuckle vibrated against his cheek. "'Soka, can I show you something?"

Hisoka squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Tsuzuki hugged him tighter for a moment, then released him and began rummaging through the pile of sheets. When he resurfaced, he was holding a second pillow.

It was a standard issue infirmary pillow, a bit lumpy, but still serviceable. There were chocolate smudges on the pillowcase, and some sticky bits that might have been caramel. Hisoka raised it to his nose and breathed a lungful of warm, male scent, the scent of home.

"It used to smell like you," Tsuzuki said regretfully. "I took it home because I missed you. It was hard to sleep without you being there, and I--"

"It's okay." Hisoka realized that he was unconsciously gripping the pillow against his chest. His eyes stung, he felt shaky inside. The pieces of his world had blown apart and reorganized themselves in a matter of minutes, and it felt surreal. He wondered if he dared to trust that any of this was actually happening.

Tsuzuki's fingers brushed the back of his hand. "Hisoka?"

The touch felt electric. It sent quivers of longing straight through him, and he found his hand turning almost by itself, bringing their palms together. And then, as he watched, Tsuzuki's fingers laced through his in return. He gripped tight, anchoring himself in the firm reality of bone and sinew.

Then Tsuzuki was reaching with his free arm, his movements slow and careful as if he was afraid of startling him. "Can I...?"

Hisoka let the pillow drop and nodded. His heart was fluttering high in his throat, his mind consumed with the realization that he had no idea what he was doing. He'd never kissed anyone, at least not voluntarily. What if he messed this up?

Tsuzuki seemed to sense his hesitation. He paused for a moment, then just slid his arm around Hisoka's back, shifting him closer. Hisoka felt the brush of warm lips against his temple and the unsteady jitter of Tsuzuki's pulse as the man settled him against the curve of his body. "I love you." It was barely a whisper, but it seemed loud against the silence.

It was so strange to hear those words being directed at _him,_ especially by the person he cared about most in the whole world. He wrapped his arms around Tsuzuki's neck, squeezing as hard as he dared, and the dark velvet waves embraced him. "You too," he whispered. It was the best he could manage, but the answering pulse of feeling told him that it was more than enough.

They might have stayed like that for a long time, just floating. But then Tsuzuki's phone rang, startling both of them. Tsuzuki gave an uncertain laugh as he reached between them to get the phone out of his pocket.

"Moshi-moshi?" His voice sounded odd, like that of a man waking up from a dream. "Oh, hi Saya." He paused for a moment listening. "I'm sure they're on their way," he said in a placating tone. "Yeah, Hisoka's right here, we're just... uh... going over some paperwork." He shot a grimace in Hisoka's direction. Hisoka rolled his eyes. "Tatsumi? No, I haven't seen him in a while... no, Watari either. I'm sorry... yes, I understand. I promise we'll be right there."

He put his phone away. "That was Saya," he said unnecessarily. "She said we'd better get our butts over to the party, or there's going to be consequences."

Hisoka winced. He could only guess what Saya meant by that, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it. "I guess we better go." He got to his feet, pulling Tsuzuki up with him.

They let go of each other's hands before teleporting.

(1) Omikuji are fortune slips sold at shrines and temples in Japan. People who, like me, can't afford the airfare, can get their fortunes told for free at the Omikuji Cyber Shrine.

(2) Ever since I heard of Sweets Forest, I knew I had to work it into a story! The whole concept just screams "Tsuzuki" as far as I'm concerned.

**AN:** Happy Valentine's, everyone, and happy Chinese New Year! I didn't even know it was the Year of the Tiger, so it's a total coincidence that there's a tiger in this chapter. I guess it must be synchronicity. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this installment, and thanks as always to Trans for her terrific (and very patient) beta work!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Here it is, the last chapter! I hope everyone had as much fun reading this as I had writing it. My original idea was for a short, simple piece about Hisoka stealing Tsuzuki's pillow, but then it grew. I have a sequel in the works, but no idea when it'll be ready to start posting. Many thanks to Trans for being such an excellent, insightful beta reader, and thanks to everyone for reading. Enjoy!

Scent of a Man

Chapter 6

They rematerialized on the polished marble steps of the Count's magnificent house. The heavy wooden doors swung open when Tsuzuki knocked, and Watson, the Count's tiny, corpse-like butler hurried to greet them.

"Good evening, sirs," he said, taking Tsuzuki's coat. "The party is taking place in the garden. Please, follow me." He tottered away, leading them past the great staircase that Hisoka knew led to the Hall of Candles, and into a cavernous room filled with statues. Hisoka tried not to look too closely at the statues or to notice the things that some of them were doing to each other, and was amused to see that Tsuzuki's eyes were similarly averted, a flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks.

As they came to the far end of the gallery, a set of French doors swung open by themselves, ushering them onto a marble terrace that overlooked a courtyard filled with blooming cherry trees. Hisoka knew this place. He'd been here for one of the Count's famous cherry blossom viewing parties, though tonight the place looked completely different.

It was snowing, for one thing. Normal snow, thankfully, not the tiny naked men, although the fact that it was falling from a cloudless, star-packed sky was itself a little odd. The trees were hung with sparkly lights that glowed and shimmered like fireflies. There was a Christmas tree, too. It was set on a low stage, its branches draped with holly garlands, and levitating near its top was Yuma. She was wearing a dark green dress trimmed in white faux fur and a matching elf hat, and was carefully maneuvering a glowing tree-top angel into position.

"Tsuzuki! Hisoka!" she cried out, waving when she saw them.

Saya, who'd been attempting to drag Chief Konoe on stage for a round of karaoke, glanced up as well. "Hey! Nice to see you guys actually made it!" she called out to them. Her outfit was identical to Yuma's, only red.

"Not like we had a choice," Hisoka muttered. After the peace and intimacy of the supply room, being here felt like a shock of cold water to the face.

Tsuzuki gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. He stepped away again as the Count, who'd been playing croquet against the Gushoshin twins, set down his mallet and came gliding up the steps towards them. Due to the fact that he was invisible, the Count's mask, gloves and smoking jacket appeared to be making the trip on their own. Hisoka couldn't help wondering if the man was naked apart from those three items.

"Merry Christmas," the Count purred. He took hold of Tsuzuki's hand and raised it to his unseen lips. "I must say that you look simply delicious tonight, Tsuzuki-san."

On that point, Hisoka was forced to agree. Tsuzuki had left his tie hanging loose and the top three buttons of his new purple shirt undone. This was probably for ventilation, or simply because he'd lost interest in the buttoning process rather than out of a desire to show off, but the effect was riveting. Hisoka edged a little closer to his side, subtly placing himself between his partner and their famously lecherous host.

"My, my," the Count chuckled. "Apparently my friend Konoe-kun was right. Things certainly _have_ changed. Kurosaki-kun, it's a pleasure having you here tonight as well, and I must say you look extremely handsome in that tuxedo." He took a flower from the lapel of his jacket and tucked it into Hisoka's buttonhole, his mask tipping forward in a slight bow as he did so. "A green carnation to match your eyes," he said. (1) "Now please, both of you, step into my garden and join the festivities."

Tsuzuki and Hisoka were about to descend when a blur of brown feathers shot from nowhere, hooting wildly. Hisoka glanced up and saw 003, Watari's pet owl, circling above them. In her claws, she was gripping a twig covered in white berries.

"A-ha!" Saya cried, charging up the steps towards them. "Looks like the two of you have been mistletoed!"

"Hold on everyone, wait for me!" Yuma ran up behind her. "Okay, now," she said, taking aim with a large Polaroid camera. "Don't be shy, boys, we want to see a kiss!"

"Yeah!" Saya agreed, and together the two of them began chanting, "Kiss, kiss, kiss!"

All eyes were upon them. Yuma and Saya, the Count, the Gushoshin twins, and even Chief Konoe were all watching them expectantly. It was humiliating. And yet, at the same time, there was warmth behind their teasing. And acceptance, too. This must be what it was like having a family, Hisoka thought. A real one, that cared about them and wanted to see them happy. Just the same, though, he didn't want their first kiss to be in front of all these people. He glanced at Tsuzuki for help, but his partner looked as lost as he felt.

Just then a voice rang out, cutting through the chant. A clear, feminine voice, which might just as well have been a choir of angels, as far as Hisoka was concerned. "Merry Christmas, everyone! Who wants to be the first to try my new triple-decker chocolate cake with ganache filling and orange glaze?"

It was almost comical how fast everyone's gaze snapped towards the top of the steps. Wakaba looked elegant in a sleeveless brocade dress with long satin gloves that covered most of her arms. Terazuma was hovering beside her like a security guard, seemingly afraid that their co-workers might mob her. Judging by their expressions, that seemed like a distinct possibility. Hisoka noticed that Terazuma was carrying a bow slung across his shoulders, and guessed that Wakaba's trip to the Night Market had ended with success.

"Me! Pick me!" Tsuzuki cried, bounding towards her.

A general stampede followed, leaving Hisoka standing alone on the steps. Wakaba waved to him above the heads of the feeding frenzy, and he mouthed the words "Thank you." She just winked at him.

003 fluttered down to settle on his shoulder with a soft hoot of disappointment. He reached up to pet her, while simultaneously extracting the twig of mistletoe from her claws. She let it go without a struggle, and he dropped it in his pocket where it couldn't cause any more trouble.

Once the cake had been reduced to crumbs, Yuma and Saya dragged Tsuzuki off to sing karaoke with them, and everyone else began to dance. Everyone except Hisoka, anyway. He watched for a minute, then wandered away and pretended to examine the food table. Parties had always been a bit of a mystery to him. He'd never understood what was supposed to be so much fun about singing off-key and jumping around on a dance floor.

Something pink caught his eye, and he noticed a large shape poking up, mountain-like, from the surrounding landscape of cakes, pastries and tiny sandwiches that covered the food table. Its summit was crowned with fresh berries and an artfully sculpted whorl of whipped topping. The raspberry trifle. Hisoka snatched the lid from one of the serving platters and clapped it over the dessert, hiding it from view.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Watari's disembodied voice floated from the shadows beneath the trees. "I never did have a chance to spike it."

He and Tatsumi materialized from the swirls of snowflakes, somehow managing to look as if they'd been there all along. "Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi said, tipping his head in a dignified nod of greeting.

"Um, hi." Hisoka didn't know what else to say.

"Looks like we came at a good time," Watari observed as he scanned the party. "We can join right in, and no one'll know the difference."

Except that Tatsumi's glasses were on crooked, Hisoka thought. And Watari's ponytail was sticking out from the side of his head. And they both looked more relaxed than he'd seen them since, well... ever.

Tatsumi didn't answer right away. He was staring at the stage with mildly horrified expression, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Kami-sama," he breathed at last. "I knew Tsuzuki-san couldn't sing, but _this..."_

"Oh Seii," Watari crooned. "I'm sure you could do sooo much better."

Tatsumi snorted. "Anyone could do better than that."

"Oh, goody!" Watari grabbed his arm and hauled him towards the stage as the song came to a merciful end. "We're next, everybody! We're neeeext!"

Hisoka saw Wakaba hide a smile behind her satin-gloved hand as the pair began arguing about what to sing. She exchanged a knowing glance with Terazuma, then Konoe, and Hisoka guessed that you didn't need empathy to tell that something had changed between the two of them. Something profound. Finally Watson started the karaoke machine, and Watari began to sing.

"Baby when I met you there was peace unknown," he began. When Tatsumi remained stonily silent, he jabbed him with his elbow.

"I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb," Tatsumi growled back at him. His baritone singing voice was surprisingly melodic, but he spoiled it by muttering, "These words are ridiculous!" (2)

"Just shut up and sing," Watari hissed back, just as audibly. Everyone laughed.

A hand landed on Hisoka's shoulder. "There you are! Where'd you get to? I was looking for you."

Tsuzuki's presence beside him was warm in contrast to the cool air. He was sweaty from the energetic song he'd been singing with Yuma and Saya, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. "Having fun?" he asked, and his gaze was so warm and shining that Hisoka could only nod yes. There was a smudge of chocolate on his cheek, right near his mouth, and it seemed as if an invisible string kept pulling Hisoka's gaze back there. To the curve of his lips. So gentle. So... inviting.

Tsuzuki was licking those lips nervously. "Hisoka?"

Hisoka stopped breathing. Because he knew, somehow, what his partner was going to say next.

"Will you dance with me?"

He took an automatic step backwards. "I can't."

"Sure you can," Tsuzuki argued reasonably. "I've seen you, you're good."

"Idiot." Hisoka rolled his eyes. "I know _how,_ it's just..."

"It's okay," Tsuzuki said softly. "Everyone else is dancing too."

They were. Yuma and Saya had dragged Chief Konoe onto the dance floor and were alternately dancing with him and with each other. 003 and the Gushoshin Twins were orbiting one another like the atoms of a very active, feathery molecule. The Count was dancing by himself, his empty clothes moving eerily in time with the music. And Tatsumi and Watari, while technically not dancing, were swaying together just perceptibly, and it was obvious by now that the words they sang were meant only for one another.

"Is-lands in the stream, that is what we are..."

Even Wakaba and Terazuma were waltzing, slowly and carefully. The reason for Wakaba's long gloves was now obvious. They made it possible for the two to touch each other without causing Terazuma to transform, though it clearly wasn't easy for them. Hisoka could see the lines of strain on Terazuma's face, and feel the effort of will it took to hold himself back. All this so they could have this one moment together. This one dance.

"And we re-ly on each other, uh-huh, from one lov-er to another, uh-huh..."

Hisoka put his hand in Tsuzuki's. "Okay."

Tsuzuki's fingers trembled just slightly as they wrapped around his, which was reassuring in a way. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one who felt nervous. He squeezed Tsuzuki's hand in a tacit gesture of reassurance--_yes, I really mean it_--and saw Tsuzuki's eyes light with pleasure. Tsuzuki took a step backwards, then another, drawing Hisoka with him onto the dance floor. Then they were moving together just as easily as that, their bodies swaying with the flow of the music.

He could tell people were looking at them. He could feel furtive glances dart towards them and then away again, smiles quickly hidden. It was easy to ignore that when Tsuzuki's delight was soaring through him, emanating like a pulse from their linked fingers. He let it pull him deeper into the music, and found that he wasn't thinking about the steps, or about who was supposed to lead. There was nothing he had to think about here, nothing that needed to be figured out. Dancing with Tsuzuki felt natural, as if they had always just done this.

He leaned closer. A strong arm settled around him, and he let his head fall against Tsuzuki's chest. He felt a low vibration against his cheek as Tsuzuki began humming along with the music. He was still humming several hours later as they climbed the steps to his apartment.

"That was the best Christmas party we've had in years," Tsuzuki said happily. He fumbled for his keys while Hisoka waited behind him at the top of the stairs, gripping the rail for balance. The sky was getting light along the eastern horizon, but the bulb above Tsuzuki's door had burned out, leaving the landing in pitch darkness. "That raspberry trifle was just incredible, wasn't it?"

Hisoka sighed. The trifle had eventually re-emerged, and Tsuzuki had devoured a sizable chunk of it in spite of Hisoka's efforts to steer him away. Luckily, Watari seemed to have been telling the truth about not spiking it. Either that, or his potion simply hadn't worked because rather than turning into an orgy, the party had become a fiercely competitive croquet tournament when a group of employees from Taisencho showed up and challenged them. The Shokan division won, thanks to an invention that Watari cheerfully dubbed his "Magic Balls," and after that the competition had switched to a karaoke contest. Which the Shokan division decisively lost.

When Tsuzuki finally announced that he was going home, Hisoka offered to walk with him part of the way. Part of the way turned into all the way, which came as no surprise to either of them. Carried along on the euphoria of the party, of dancing, good food and the company of dear friends--and the little quivers that stirred alive in his belly whenever Tsuzuki looked at him--it had seemed like the natural thing to do. Now, he was nervous again.

What was supposed to happen next? Would they kiss? He knew he wanted to. He wanted it more than he could ever have imagined possible, but he was also pretty sure he'd be awful at it. Tsuzuki was going to be disappointed. Wanting something in your imagination was one thing, but the reality of Hisoka was that he was scarred and scrawny with hands that were too big for his half-grown body, and that his only previous experience with kissing came from the man who'd raped and killed him. What if he _couldn't_ do it? What if he froze? In his dream he'd known the difference, that Tsuzuki wasn't Muraki and sex with him wasn't the same as being raped, but this was real. His body had always betrayed him in the past, why should this be different?

"Damn keys!" Tsuzuki hissed. He rattled the door, jolting Hisoka from his thoughts. "Stupid things aren't working!"

"Let me try." Hisoka reached past him, and the knob turned easily in his hand. "Ever thought of locking up when you leave the house?"

"Oh." Tsuzuki looked shamefaced. "I guess I had a lot on my mind." His hands shook as he repocketed the keys, and he gazed down the empty hallway as though it were the path to the gallows. "You... uh. You don't have to--"

"I guess I should--"

They both stopped and looked at each other. Tsuzuki shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I got you something. I know it's not exactly Christmas yet, but, um... do you want to come in for a minute?" Light from the end of the hallway bathed his cheek in a halo of soft gold. His eyes seemed fathomless, their purple irises swallowed in shadow, and for a moment he looked like the ancient being he really was. "Please," he whispered.

Hisoka swallowed hard, and wondered how long Tsuzuki had been waiting. For this exact thing, for someone who would stay. "I... um," he said intelligently. Then bolted past Tsuzuki into the hall. "I got you something too." He pulled out the watch case. "Here."

Framed in the doorway, Tsuzuki looked the way he had in the dream, a black silhouette against the surrounding night. But when he came forward into the light, he was just Tsuzuki. He took the wooden case in both hands as if he were accepting a precious relic.

"I forgot to wrap it," Hisoka added regretfully. And then realized that he hadn't thought of buying a card, either. Not that he'd even know what to write in one.

Tsuzuki's eyes widened comically as he opened the case and lifted the watch from its velvet nest. "'Soka," he breathed. "This is too much, I don't--"

"If you even _think_ of saying you don't deserve it, I'm going to smack you."

Tsuzuki fell silent. And stared at the watch for so long that Hisoka began to worry. Then, finally, he nudged the door shut with his foot and moved past Hisoka, heading for the end of the hallway. Hisoka trailed after him, not sure whether he should take this as an invitation, but then realized that Tsuzuki was heading for the bathroom.

"I'll just be a second," Tsuzuki said with a wink. "Why don't you go in the living room and get comfortable?"

Hisoka flushed. Had Tsuzuki thought he was going to follow him in? "Idiot," he growled just in case, and stomped into the living room.

It was messier than he'd seen it on previous visits, which was saying a lot. A blanket and various stuffed toys were strewn haphazardly on the couch. The hardened remnants of a half eaten donut sat forlornly on the coffee table, surrounded by empty ramen cups and an untidy stack of LP records. Hisoka flipped through those, wondering if he ought to buy the man a CD player for his birthday. Then again, most of these albums were at least half a century old, probably not even available now.

He suddenly realized how tired he was. How long had it been since he'd slept? He sank down on the couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. A heavy residue of emotion lingered on the upholstery, as if Tsuzuki had been spending a lot of time there. Hisoka picked up sadness and shame and... oh. _That_ feeling. He knew that feeling, that aching, shivering _need_ that made him want to climb out of his own skin. He got up again, uncomfortable with having invaded his partner's privacy in such a way.

It was a relief when the bathroom door swung open and Tsuzuki emerged, still carrying the watch. He walked over to Hisoka and held it out to him in his right hand, palm side down. His wrist was bare.

"I was wondering if you'd put it on me," he said with a small, uncertain smile. "I threw the other one out," he added, apparently noticing the direction of Hisoka's gaze. "It never worked anyway."

Hisoka took the watch from him in a dreamlike state, only dimly aware of the cool metal against his palm. He felt like a sleepwalker, his mind oddly disconnected from what he was doing as he took Tsuzuki's hand in his and turned it over. The scars came in view, maggoty white against the soft caramel skin of Tsuzuki's inner wrist. They crossed one another like ropes, and all Hisoka could think was how narrow Tsuzuki's wrist looked, really, how fragile his bones appeared beneath that layer of tissue. Tsuzuki flinched when he reached to touch them.

"Do they hurt?"

Tsuzuki shook his head. "It's just... they're so ugly."

"They're part of you." And then, realizing that Tsuzuki wasn't going to see his point, Hisoka bent his head and pressed his lips to the scars in a firm kiss.

Tsuzuki made a strangled noise at the back of his throat, and Hisoka pulled back, his eyes watering. His fingers felt clumsy and too big as he clasped the watch into place. "I have scars too."

"But mine are by choice," Tsuzuki whispered. He reached to trail his fingers along the curve of Hisoka's jaw. "You fought so hard to live, but all I wanted was death. And no matter how often I tried..." he glanced down at his wrist, now covered both by the watch strap and by Hisoka's hand. He laid his free hand over Hisoka's. "I'm glad now that I couldn't. But it's going to take me some time getting used to this. If... if you can be patient with me?"

Hisoka scowled at their joined hands. "If you _ever_ try hurting yourself again, I'm going to--"

"No, no, no, I mean..." Tsuzuki laughed nervously. "I meant with this," he gave Hisoka's hand a squeeze, "with us. Is it okay if we take things kinda slow?"

Things...? Hisoka searched his partner's face, trying to decipher what he meant. Then_, Oh. Oh crap, he means--_ He diverted his gaze to a bookshelf in the corner of the room, suddenly fascinated to notice how many of Tsuzuki's books had been bookmarked using old candy wrappers. He managed a nod, just barely.

"It's not like I don't want to," Tsuzuki went on, "I just need... well, some time, I guess, before--"

"Yes! Okay!" Hisoka interrupted. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having. Wasn't sex something that people just did? He'd sort of been prepared for that, but he hadn't counted on having to actually _talk_ about it. "That's fine," he added in a lower voice, when he felt Tsuzuki's worry-fear spike into predictable self-recrimination. "It's all right."

"It is?" Tsuzuki sounded doubtful.

"Yeah." Hisoka studied the pattern on the carpet. It was better this way. Probably. Tsuzuki obviously knew about the rape, though he'd never said anything. But of course, he wouldn't.

"Would you stay for a while anyway?" _Like forever,_ came the thought-echo behind his words.

Hisoka sighed. There was a part of him that wanted to be just about anywhere else right now, but... "Yes."

"And... could we dance a little more?"

"Yes."

Tsuzuki squeezed his hand again. And glowed. There really was no other word for what his emotions were doing. "And...?" Tsuzuki was leaning towards him now, his expression hopeful.

Hisoka's stomach did a little flip. He gave a shaky nod and felt Tsuzuki's happiness wash over him, weightless as sunlight. A quick, shy kiss planted itself on his forehead, and then Tsuzuki was gone again, bouncing across the room. "Wait here, 'kay?

Hisoka caught a gulp of air and realized, with some irritation, that he'd been holding his breath. "Where else would I go?" he grumbled.

Tsuzuki flashed him a bright grin and scurried into the bedroom. Rummaging noises followed. Then a crash, accompanied by a soft curse. And then Tsuzuki was back again, poking just his head around the corner. "Close your eyes."

"Tsuzuki, what the hell are you--"

"No peeking!"

Hisoka did as he was told, figuring it was easier than trying to argue, and heard footsteps coming towards him. Then Tsuzuki's voice again, much closer. "Hold out your hands."

Hisoka did, and a smooth, cylindrical object settled across his palms. "Can you guess what it is?" Tsuzuki asked in a soft voice.

Hisoka closed his hands around the object. It was made of something hard, like wood, and had a smooth polished surface. As he held it, a thrum of hidden energy stirred alive beneath his palms and sent goose bumps marching up his arms. In his mind's eye he caught a flash of bright steel, of moonlight glinting on bared teeth and he thought... no. It couldn't be.

He opened his eyes, and saw that it was.

The sword was encased in a scabbard made from dark wood, scarred with age. The hilt was long, intended for a two-handed grip, and wrapped in black cords that formed a diamond pattern. A snarling tiger was embossed on the tip of the handle. The weapon was devoid of any other form of ornamentation, but its simplicity gave it a certain deadly elegance. Hisoka gave his partner a questioning look.

"It's, um, pretty old I think," Tsuzuki said. "An antique. Made by some guy... Maso-something."

"Masamune?" Hisoka asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, that sounds right. Why, is he famous or something?"

"You could say that." Hisoka eased the sword from its scabbard. The blade was mirror bright, and the ghostly temper lines that ran the length of it formed swirling patterns that reminded him of clouds. "So this is what you bought at the Night Market," he breathed.

"You knew about that?"

"I was there. I saw you with Tatsumi."

"Ah." Hisoka felt a ripple of embarrassment from his partner, and wondered if it was due to the hand-holding incident. Tsuzuki's next words proved him wrong. "It was actually his suggestion," he admitted. "I wanted to get you something really special, but nothing seemed like _enough. _So I asked Tatsumi what he thought."

"And he suggested this?"

Tsuzuki nodded.

Hisoka gazed down at the blade in his hands. It was light as air and perfectly balanced, yet he felt the crushing weight of responsibility that came with it. He realized that his body had automatically shifted into a fighting stance. "Did he say anything else?" he asked softly. "Did he tell you why he thought this would make a good present?"

Tsuzuki frowned. "No, he just... seemed to think you'd like it."

Well. That was a relief, anyway. Tsuzuki didn't need to know about his duel with Oriya, and as long as Hisoka had anything to say about it, he never would.

"You do, don't you?" Tsuzuki asked, sounding anxious. "Like it, I mean."

Hisoka carefully re-holstered the blade. He gazed into Tsuzuki's worried face, and suddenly couldn't help himself. He threw his arms around the taller man's neck and hugged him close, burying his face against his shirt collar. "It's perfect," he whispered. "Thank you."

And it was. Even if it also carried a not-too-subtle hidden message that Tatsumi expected him to be Tsuzuki's protector from now on. That was okay with him. It was all he wanted anyway, and he planned to do everything in his power to be just that.

Tsuzuki slipped his arms around him in turn, and he felt a surge of hesitant joy rising around him like bubbles through soda. He kissed the side of Tsuzuki's neck and tasted the salt of his skin, loving the feel of his warm pulse throbbing against his lips. "Asato," he murmured, kissing again softly. He felt a tremor of surprise from Tsuzuki, and long fingers tensed against his back.

"Sorry," Hisoka said, starting to draw away. "I didn't--"

Tsuzuki pulled him back again. "No. Please, don't be. It's just... it's been a long time since anyone's called me that." His presence was a swirl of emotions that Hisoka could scarcely identify. It reminded him of the sensation a bandage being yanked away, that odd mixture of pain and relief that came when old hurts were exposed to the air so they could start to heal. "I didn't say I minded," Tsuzuki added, nuzzling Hisoka's hair. His breath was a warm tickle against his scalp.

"You better get used to it then." Hisoka took a deep breath. "Asato."

He felt rather than saw Tsuzuki's smile, and the aching sweetness that came with it. In his mind's eye, he saw the little boy on the riverbank smiling through his bruises when the firefly landed in his hand. _I could be that firefly_, he thought with a giddy sense of realization. He disentangled himself just long enough to set the sword on the coffee table and led his partner over to the couch. "Sit down."

Tsuzuki sank down heavily, as if his legs weren't really supporting him anymore. His fingers dug into the seat cushion, knuckles whitening as thought it were his final link to reality. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," he said with a shaky laugh.

Hisoka sat down cautiously, worried about being swamped once again by the emotional residues that clung to the couch. He found that he needn't have worried. Tsuzuki's current emotions were enough to drown out any lingering remnants.

He studied his partner. "Tsuzuki." Saying his name felt different now, as if it had taken on some new, hidden meaning. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the sprig of mistletoe. It was a little squished but still perfectly recognizable, if Tsuzuki's wide-eyed reaction was any indication. Wordlessly, he raised it above his own head. When Tsuzuki just stared at him through a long, awestruck moment, he said, "I don't have to be patient about everything, do I?"

Tsuzuki leaned forward slowly, like a man in a dream. An eternity seemed to pass before he felt the first brush of his partner's mouth, as light as falling snowflakes against his own. Tsuzuki's kiss tasted like chocolate and raspberries and something else, something nameless and sweet. Hisoka learned in that moment that kissing wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined it to be. He found that he didn't have to think about how their noses should fit, or what he ought to do with his hands--they both slid into Tsuzuki's hair pretty much automatically--or whether it mattered if he opened his mouth a bit. Or how he was supposed to breathe.

Breathing stopped being important around the same time that Tsuzuki opened _his_ mouth, and a groan of uncertain origin hovered between them. Hisoka let himself fall into that sound, let it fill his chest with its sweet vibration. Warm hands cupped his face, thumbs tracing light circles against his cheekbones, a wordless encouragement. He opened into the kiss and felt a rush of piercing delight as Tsuzuki's tongue gently stroked his. It felt so nice, so intimate. Almost playful. So completely different from his chilling memory of Muraki's mouth crushing down against his own. Kissing Tsuzuki wasn't the same thing at all. The actions might be similar, but the feelings were like night and day.

When they finally broke for air, he wrapped his arms around Tsuzuki and hugged him close. A warm heaviness settled over him. He let his head fall against his partner's shoulder and tucked his face into his shirt collar, breathing his scent. It was getting light outside. Stripes of pale pink sky were showing through the gaps in the blinds, heralding the start of a new day. "I love you," he whispered, and felt the truth of that statement resonate through both of them. Tsuzuki's arms tightened around him, pulling him closer against his side, and he felt the answering swell of emotion as clearly as words.

_My Asato,_ he thought. And smiled. His partner made the perfect pillow.

~owari~

(1). Besides matching Hisoka's eyes, green carnations were also worn by Oscar Wilde and his contemporaries to signify homosexuality during an era when it was a crime to be gay. (As it sadly still is, in many parts of the world.)

2). These lyrics are from the song "Islands in the Stream," originally written by the BeeGees and recorded as a duet by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. It's pretty sappy, but makes a good karaoke song.


End file.
